


Static

by sailtheplains



Category: DBZ - Fandom, Dragonball, Dragonball Z
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Big sister, Brother-Sister Relationships, Daddy Issues, F/M, Fight: 17/18 vs Future Gohan, Fight: 17/18 vs Future Trunks, Gen, Hirudegarn - Freeform, Mad Science, Multiverse, Namek, Saving the World, Terminator - Freeform, Trunks being a teenager, awkward teenagers, being a normal person, desolate future, dragonballs: Porunga, fight: 17 vs Future Mai, fight: 17 vs Future Trunks, fight: 17 vs Future Videl, fight: 17/18 vs Future Vegeta, fight: 18 vs Future Gohan, fight: 18 vs Future Trunks, fight: 18 vs Future Videl, fight: 18 vs fortuneteller baba, fight: Cell vs 17/18, fight: Chi-Chi vs those goddamn kids, fight: cell vs Future Trunks, fight: hirudegarn vs everyone, flashback lunch, ham radio, is nice, konats, legendary warrior, little brother, made a friend, new Namek, ocarina of not-time, operators, some niceness, super saiyans, theory, when you're also a Saiyan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:11:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 152,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: Just wanted to write about Trunks being in his own time, coping with the androids, intense loneliness and all that pent up anger. --It broadcast on an inbetween frequency, one that was boosted by long-range towers and an extensive set-up that his mother had built. The Briefs’ compound was a center for information to the few who remained living in the area. Ham radios were one of the only ways to transmit long-distance communication any longer. Bulma had rigged together a couple satellites so that their house basically worked as an amplification hub. All signals nearby could reach it and then be boosted to farther distances. It could go all the way to Plano, and that was, at least, three thousand miles away.This warning appeared to be from somewhere much closer. A woman was saying:“This is Jaida out of the Martinsand hub. Deadhead activity at Latitude: 39.5. Longitude at -119.8. Within five miles of Koma—evacuate immediately. If you’re in the city, go underground. Repeat, deadheads at 39.5; -119.8. Evacuate immediately or go underground.”--------------------------------------------------------





	1. Channel Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ham radios are really neat devices. Its one of the ways people communicated between continents before phones lines were put in under the Atlantic. My stepdad lived in Indiana but could boost his signal and talk with folks as far away as Germany (About 5000 miles). CB radios are for more localized communications. Truckers use CB radios a lot and they have "handles" like how people now have "screennames".
> 
> If you're interested in more info about this type of radio, go here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amateur_radio

Trunks opened his eyes when he felt the time machine jolt. He didn’t move, just let his eyes examine the surrounding area. He was back. Yes, the destruction, the desolation, the isolation—it was familiar, wasn’t it. So different from the past. 

His mother was running towards him. He could see her small form, sprinting across the jagged, bare dirt from what was left of the Briefs’ compound. For a moment, he just watched her run, trying to comprehend…trying to….

He broke out in a cold sweat, his palms were clammy. Trunks pressed the hatch and watched the glass move back so he could climb out. 

“Trunks! Are you okay! Trunks! Did you make it!”

He hopped down to the ground and his mother nearly crashed into him. She latched into his sleeves, staring up at him. “Are you all right, Trunks? What happened?”

A million thoughts flooded through his mind, all clambering together for attention. He took a deep breath to get himself under control. “I made it back. I gave Goku the medicine, Mom. I told him about the androids.”

She searched his face. “And?”

Trunks peered at her solemnly. “And…he said they would train.” He shrugged a little and looked away from her. 

“Trunks?” Bulma said, following him with her eyes as he started to walk passed her. “Trunks!”

“What is it, Mom?” he said, very quietly, voice carefully even.

“Did you…” Bulma mouthed soundlessly for a moment before regaining her voice. “Did you…meet the others?”

Trunks stopped on the barren earth. He stared at the ground. He took another deep breath. “Yes. I met them. They were all there. Just like you said they would be.”

“W-Was I—“

“Yes, you were there, Mom.”

“Ha,” a nervous laugh bubbled up from Bulma. “I bet my hair looked really crazy, huh?”

Trunks attempted to smile for her. “Yeah. It was, uh, big.” He started walking again. 

Bulma kept looking over at him. He felt her eyes examining his profile before she moved ahead of him to open the door inside. “I’ve got some rice ready if you’re hungry?”

Trunks looked around the dilapidated house. “I’m….I’m not hungry, Mom but thank you.”

“Trunks? Please—what happened? What’s wrong? Gohan? Was it Gohan? He was still a little kid then—I know it must have been hard, seeing him.”

“Yeah…it was,” he said. 

“And was….Vegeta there?”

Trunks felt his chest clench, teeth gritting. “Yes. He was there,” he answered, a little more tersely.

Bulma fretted with her sleeve, something in her eyes cracking apart. “Trunks—I know he was…difficult to be around sometimes—“

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Trunks cut her off. He finally looked at her, examining her. He shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me what he was like? You’ve let me believe for all my life that he must have been…a good man. That he was like Gohan. That yes, he was difficult and abrasive but under that—he was good. That there was some _reason_ that you loved him. _Was_ there a reason?”

Bulma looked away. “I….you had lost so much…I thought that letting you think that he wasn’t so bad—“

“No, it let _you_ believe that he wasn’t so bad. Right?”

Bulma flinched a little.

“You should have warned me, Mom.”

“He might change if he lives, Trunks.”

“Maybe,” Trunks said softly. “Who knows, right? I don’t suppose we’ll know for awhile yet? If I’ve changed anything?”

Bulma took a breath. “I….I’ve been watching since you left this morning. Because if there was going to be any change…then it should have happened right away. At least, according to my theories.”

Trunks’ eyes widened a little. “So….it was pointless?” Trunks drug a hand down his face.

“Well—no—Trunks, listen to me. There were always two theories that I built the time machine around. Either time is a linear line and everything that happens in the past will affect our present _or_ , it will simply cause a branch in the timeline in another universe. We never had any way of knowing which would happen. Since there was no change here…it seems to be that…where you went was another universe.”

Trunks went to the kitchen table, sitting down heavily. He drug his fingers through his hair. “So nothing will change here.”

“Right. But,” Bulma said, sitting beside him and looking into his face, “if they find a way to defeat the cyborgs in their present—it might help us figure out how to do it here.”

“So now we just have to wait three years and hope for the best,” Trunks said quietly. His tone was resigned. 

“I’m sorry, Trunks. I wish we could have known sooner—but it wouldn’t have changed anything, I suppose.”

“No, it wouldn’t have. I would still have gone.”

Bulma got the kettle off the stove, pouring two cups of hot tea and bringing them back to the table. “What did Goku think of you?”

Trunks managed a crooked half-smile. “He was impressed, I think. Though, more astounded by who my parents were. He was…strong but…but I can see now that Gohan wasn’t actually like him. I mean, Gohan was good and powerful and brave—and Goku was those things too. But Goku’s…attitude, I guess, surprised me. He was—“

“Sometimes, he was an idiot,” Bulma said flatly.

Trunks chuckled a little. “Gohan seemed to be more like Piccolo. He seemed to take after him more. At least—I think. I only got to speak to them for just a short time before Goku showed up. But Piccolo reminded me a lot of Gohan.”

“Goku was…gone a lot,” Bulma said, a little delicately.

“Yeah,” Trunks agreed, a little softer. He took a deep breath before he picked up his tea to take a sip. “It was nice though…seeing Gohan when he was happy.” His hands tightened into fists on the table. His mother’s hand crossed his vision, taking hold of one of those fists. 

“I’m so sorry, Trunks.”

The half-saiyan finally looked at her. “Me too, Mom.”

 

 

 

He slept late the next morning, plagued all night by dreams of his mother’s friends, of Gohan’s death—only his mentor was a little boy again and the cyborgs butchered Gohan in a strange reversal of ages. He started a list of things he needed to ask them about when he went back in three years. What were the coordinates to new Namek? Could they replace the guardian of Earth? Was there a way to contact the Kais? Why were they always so willing to intervene before—but not now?

Was Earth cut off from the intergalactic neighborhood because they had no guardian? And if that was the case—how had they even gotten a guardian in the first place? There was just so much history that was lost. But if he could get to new Namek somehow—what if he could wish Gohan back with the dragonballs?

He tried not to put much stock in that. After all, three years was a long time to survive until he could presumably go back and presumably meet the same Goku he had met yesterday.

Now _that_ was weird to think about. Yesterday felt like a fever-dream. It had been kind of nice to actually win a fight for once, though. Freeza and King Cold were nothing but target practice to a super Saiyan. Sometimes with all the death and destruction in this time, he forgot that in other times—against other enemies—he would have dominated them. 

That was probably the real difference between here and there. Back there, back _then_ , they had hope. They hadn’t spent seventeen years getting the shit kicked out of them at every corner. They had confidence. Even Yamcha and Tien and Krillin had confidence. It must have been amazing to grow up in a world like that—where there was all that _potential_.

He looked out the window of the small library his mother kept, touching the glass. _Instead of here, where everything is just…wasted._

Trunks shook himself. He’d never been much of an optimist, that was his mother’s area, but they had _done_ something, at least. Now all they could do was wait. In the meantime, he had to keep trying. Keep trying. No matter how fruitless it seemed. If he was dead, he couldn’t go back. So he, at least, had to keep alive for that.

Three years. Just three years more.

 

 

 

Three hours later, Trunks heard their ham radio sound an air raid siren. He dropped the scrap he’d been taking apart for his mother and raced into the workshop.

There was a jumble of beeps and scratchy static before someone came in on channel twenty-seven. It was a channel designated for warnings when cyborgs showed up. It broadcast on an inbetween frequency, one that was boosted by long-range towers and an extensive set-up that his mother had built. The Briefs’ compound was a center for information to the few who remained living in the area. Ham radios were one of the only ways to transmit long-distance communication any longer. Bulma had rigged together a couple satellites so that their house basically worked as an amplification hub. All signals nearby could reach it and then be boosted to farther distances. It could go all the way to Plano, and that was, at least, three thousand miles away. 

This warning appeared to be from somewhere much closer. A woman was saying:

“This is Jaida out of the Martinsand hub. Deadhead activity at Latitude: 39.5. Longitude at -119.8. Within five miles of Koma—evacuate immediately. If you’re in the city of Koma, go underground. Repeat, deadheads at 39.5; -119.8. Evacuate immediately or go underground.”

Trunks’ eyes darted over to the map beside the radio equipment, placing his finger on it and skimming down to the southwest. The door into the lab opened and his mother came through. He looked at her.

She sighed. “How far out?”

“Koma is seventy miles to the southwest. I’ll go now.” He grabbed his sword and jerked on his jacket.

Bulma hurried up with his GPS and a capsule that likely contained first aid supplies. He put the tracker on his wrist.

“Be careful,” his mother said quietly.

Trunks looked at her and then pocketed the capsule. He took a running start and blasted off.

Bulma hurried back to the radio. She could only wait on tenderhooks, fretting. Jaida out of Martinsand, a ruin of a city about one hundred and eighty miles to the north, continued broadcasting the warning for Koma. Line twenty-seven was understood as a warning frequency and so Jaida wasn’t always the one broadcasting. Signals came in from all over for Bulma’s satellite to amplify. Jaida repeated her warning about once every minute from wherever she was holed up in Martinsand. 

“Koma, if you’re still there, flip to channel eleven and respond,” Jaida said, her voice scratchy.

Bulma turned on the second radio, flipping it to the channel to listen. 

“This is Dizon. Still here,” a man was saying. “We got confirmed sightings on both of them. They’re definitely doing laundry today.”

“Son of a bitch,” Jaida responded. “Why did they go to Koma?”

“They’re probably bored. Or maybe they can pick up the signals we broadcast in their heads?”

“I imagine it’s kinda tinny,” Jaida responded, with a short chuckle. “Or maybe Half-Bake out of Expola tried shining out some country music again.”

Bulma smiled at the radio. All she ever heard were voices in the dark. Saiyans and Namekians and every other race could trashtalk humans all they wanted…but deep down…they never gave up. They never completely submitted. She touched the flexing waves as the two operators kept in contact. They’d probably never seen each other—just like Bulma had never seen either of them—but the voices were familiar. 

“We’ve got incoming,” said the man from Koma. “Switching back to twenty-seven.”

Bulma followed them, turning down eleven.

“The explosion hit to the south side of the city—but west of Crafter’s Park. If you’re in the subway, find an archway to duck under in case the road collapses. It—“

Dizon was interrupted by a blast of static.

“Dizon?” Jaida’s voice rasped.

“Shit,” Dizon came back in. “Had to duck. The black-haired one flew up to the window. Blondie is—oh _shit_ \--something—wait—it’s that kid!”

Channel eleven crackled again. “The one with the purple hair?” Jaida asked.

“Yeah, poor bastard,” Dizon replied on channel eleven.

Bulma twisted her hands together. There was silence on both channels for several long moments before twenty-seven sparked back into life.

“Oof, kid is on their _shit_ today,” Dizon said. “If anyone in Koma is listening, stay off the streets, get underground if you can. Looks like he’s going to try and lure them away from the city.”

“Somebody buy that guy a beer,” Jaida said on channel eleven.

“Or bandages,” someone else said who wasn’t Jaida or Dizon. 

“Dammit…” Jaida said softly. 

Only Dizon in Koma could give them any updates. Bulma and all the ham radio operators that were currently listening could only wait. 

“He seems to be heading towards the dam. If you’re at the Koma dam, you should probably get the hell outta there,” Dizon from Koma advised. “I’m watching the twins right now—they’re following the kid out that way. He’s doing that thing where he glows.”

“Does anyone actually know who he is?” someone piped up on channel eleven.

Bulma reached for the handset and the hesitated. She’d never…actually interacted with very many of the other radio operators. It was difficult sometimes to listen to them when they were broadcasting from an area that was under attack. She couldn’t bear it sometimes, listening and waiting to hear them talk about Gohan….

And then Trunks and Gohan…

And now, just Trunks.

The voices in the dark only knew him as the “kid with the purple hair”, or the “one who glowed”. The truckers who used channel five-seventy-five called him the “Yellow Dart”. 

Bulma grabbed the receiver and pressed the button. “His name is Trunks.”

There was some static as more than one person apparently tried to key in at the same time. Someone said, “Who?”

“Trunks—one of the Briefs, I think?” asked someone else. 

“I didn’t know any of them were still alive,” said a grizzled-sounding old woman.

“How does he glow like that?” Jaida from Martinsand asked on channel eleven.

Bulma hesitated again before pressing the button in. “He’s…got mixed blood. His father was from another planet outside this system.”

“Shit, they blew the dam!” Dizon from Koma yelled on channel twenty-seven. “Brace yourselves!”

Unconsciously, everyone listening did. Even if they weren’t in Koma. 

It was several long moments of wrenching silence before Dizon scratched back in. “Shit…okay, so…looks like maybe the twins flew off? That guy—Trunks, you said? He just landed on the main street. Looks pretty fucked up, poor bastard.”

“Is he dying!?” Bulma couldn’t help herself, grabbing into the receiver like a lifeline.

“No, ma’am—no, no—he’s still walking. He’s just…roughed up. If anyone is still listening in Koma, looks like he’s dropping a capsule inside the old First Source Bank. Stay out of the open until nightfall, in case the bastards come back for a round of pop shots. If anyone has any Hetap, take the guy a can.”

Bulma listened to them chat on channel twenty-seven as Koma slowly relaxed as night fell. Dizon kept a running play-by-play for Bulma’s benefit on channel eleven, which many interested parties appeared to have tuned in to. 

When Dizon indicated that Trunks had finally taken off, Bulma switched to channel one-forty-one. There was someone on it who went by Bandit. He read books in the evening. They were ones he’d scavenged from various places and he’d pick one and read it all the way through. It usually took him a week or so to get through a book. But that was all he seemed to do with his ham radio. He just read books out loud. And people turned in to listen. Books were hard to come by nowadays. Sometimes it nice to just listen to a story from Before. 

Trunks arrived a half-hour later. His jacket was torn and soaked in blood. He looked tired. More tired than usual. Bulma made him eat and then he staggered off to bed.

Bulma sighed softly, tuning in to Bandit again as he started to read a book about a boy who discovered he was a wizard.


	2. Just Videl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her name is Yoshime: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5ajFCcw2ao
> 
> \--
> 
>  
> 
> The blond one, the woman, she had punched her father _once_.
> 
> His nose had exploded in blood, every bone in his face fractured and then she hooked her fingernails into his skull and tore out his eyes. The dark-haired one, the man, had ripped his arms from their sockets. The two of them watched him bleed out, looking bored as he died.

Eighteen sat up, pinching a piece of seaweed and pulling it out of her hair. She huffed at it, throwing it aside. “So, he seemed a little riled up today.”

“That was pretty good,” Seventeen agreed, snickering as he pulled off his shirt to ring it out. “A waste, but he did surprise us.”

“He blew up a dam,” Eighteen grumbled.

“And that’s why we keep him around,” Seventeen answered. “I mean, he’s a lot more fun than Gohan. Aw, sometimes I miss Gohan. Why did we kill him again?”

“The same reason we kill anyone,” Eighteen told him.

“It’s fun. Right.”

Eighteen still looked thoughtful, running slender fingers through her blond hair. 

Seventeen raised his eyebrows. “What?” 

Eighteen shrugged and huffed a little. “I don’t know. Something just seemed strange. Different.”

“Who cares. Let’s go find a city to light up.”

“We just did.”

“Okay, but one that’s not destroyed yet!”

Eighteen sighed. “….sometimes I wish the old man had made more of us so I could talk to someone else.”

“Like what? Another girl-android? Wanna go shopping together?”

“Better than doing the same shit with you day after day.”

“See, this is why we argue so much.”

“Fuck off.” Eighteen flew up into the air. “Go find a city. I’m going to go replace my clothes. _Again_.”

“Well, it’s no fun if only _I_ go,” he grumbled and flew after her.

“Then don’t bitch about me looking at clothes!” She snapped at him, flying off into the encroaching dark.

 

 

 

Ten miles outside of West City, where the crumbling Capsule Corporation headquarters remained, was a smaller town called Pesto.

In Pesto, another radio operator hung up her headset. She stared at it thoughtfully. There was someone nearby who knew how to fly? Trunks Briefs, apparently? He’d really been _flying_. He was the one that some of the other operators said could glow. 

She knew the name Briefs, of course. Who didn’t? The inventor of DynoCaps was legendary. It had completely revolutionized several industries all on its own. And there was Briefs’ daughter, Bulma. She was a genius herself. And everyone in and around West City knew of her connection to Goku Son, who had fought some guys from another planet after they attacked a city. Or something. The stories were a little scattered now. But her father had paid close attention to the stories. She’d been a little girl at the time. 

Then the cyborgs had appeared. They had been connected to the Red Ribbon Army—which, again, attributed its defeat to that guy, Goku. Goku had died a long time ago and all his friends had died when the cyborgs showed up. She’d heard about Gohan—his son—as some sort of warrior that could glow and fly. And now there was Trunks, who could glow and fly.

Her own father had hidden out for days before public outcry demanded he attempt to face the cyborgs in combat. That was when Videl saw what he really was. 

The blond one, the woman, she had punched her father _once_.

His nose had exploded in blood, every bone in his face fractured and then she hooked her fingernails into his skull and tore out his eyes. The dark-haired one, the man, had ripped his arms from their sockets. The two of them watched him bleed out, looking bored as he died. 

Videl had stared at that blood for a long time. The live camera feeds went silent, still broadcasting in horror, even as the group of curious spectators all scattered. After that, a lot more people died and Videl was on her own. She was eleven, then.

Seventeen years later, she was twenty-eight, a seasoned fighter and gun runner. She’d been lucky that, for all the foolishness her father had touted, he’d been sure that she learned how to fight. She’d survived seventeen years on that alone. 

But if there was someone nearby who could _fly_ …maybe she could help them somehow.

Videl flipped over to channel eleven and picked up her receiver again. She pressed the button. “This is Videl out of Pesto—Jaida or Dizon, either of you still around?”

It took a few moments before someone answered. “This is Jaida, what’s up, Pesto?”

“Jaida, want to confirm—did anyone ever get eyes on that purple-haired guy?”

“Dizon saw him, I guess.”

“Did he really fly?”

“Dizon says he did. Like the deadheads, but different. They don’t glow like he does.”

“Heard someone say he was one of the Briefs?”

“Yeah,” Jaida answered. “Trunks, I guess. I think that’s a grandson? I’m not really sure. I’ve never met any of them.”

“Do you know where the Briefs are?” Videl pulled a map over to herself.

“Well, they’re probably still holed up in Capsule Corp, I imagine,” Jaida said. “At least, that’s what I figure. Dizon was talking to some lady about the guy—she might be a relative. Her signal was coming out of West City and it was boosted like fuck. So I’d guess they’re still at the headquarters there.”

“Shit,” Videl murmured to herself, studying the map. “West City is only ten miles away.” She keyed back in on channel eleven. “Thanks, Jaida. Stay safe. I’m gonna try to make contact with them.”

“Be careful on the road, Pesto. There are gangs out in the countryside now. Fuckin roaches.”

Videl scowled. “Figures. Thanks for the heads-up, Jaida.”

 

 

Videl spent the next day gathering supplies. She had no idea if she’d ever be back, or even if she’d make it to West City. Ten miles wasn’t far, a long time ago. Now it was like a dead zone. No one wanted to be sighted by the Twins out in the open. Catching their interest was bad news bears. So, of course, remaining people had banded together for protection (not that it would have helped them much). Some of them just tried to get by but others turned to killing and looting the survivors and their dead cities, creating little microcosms of power in the middle of vast desolation. 

Videl had made a living in her teens by fighting them when they attacked civilians. She was more than a match for most of them. Some of them she’d met had been the defacto leaders and it chilled her to the bone, how much they were like her father. All posturing and arrogance. How had she never seen it?

Not until he was killed, and the public turned on their family, did she begin to see what he was. It shamed her. 

So now, she was Videl. Just Videl. 

And just Videl checked over her motorcycle before she pulled her goggles down and shouldered her pack. She left most of the radio equipment, taking only a mobile hotspot that was solar powered. She checked the skies for any sight of deadheads before she started the engine. It was loud, echoing around the empty town of Pesto. 

She blasted off.

She made it five miles before someone shot her front wheel. The rubber blew apart and the axle slammed into the crumbling asphalt. Videl went flying over the handlebars, scraping her arms on the road as she came to a stop. The woman swore softly, standing up and pulling her goggles off. Her arms were covered in blood. She heard the second bullet and ducked, launching herself into the ditch on the opposite side of the road. She pressed her back against the muddy trench, listening. 

“Get the bike,” someone said. 

“Why didn’t Joey shoot the rider? Why did he shoot the fucking tire? Fucking idiot.”

“Somebody get eyes on the rider. Where’d he go?”

“He’s in the trench, hiding.”

“Come on out!” Someone else called. “You give us any supplies you have and we’ll let you walk away.”

Videl glanced around the muddy trench and scowled as she climbed out. 

“On your knees!”

Videl obeyed, staying on her knees and putting her hands up.

“Oh, shit. Motherfucker. It’s Videl,” said one of the men.

“The fuck is that?”

“Smuggler, radio operator out of Pesto,” answered the man.

“Hand over your pack, radio star, and we’ll let you walk back to Pesto,” said one of the women. There were three of them. There were ten men. They all had guns pointed at Videl.

“I’m just going to West City,” Videl said, voice carefully even and calm. “Don’t want any trouble.”

“Little late for that, sweetheart. Going to beat us up like your dear old dad?”

Videl scowled.

“Oh shit, she’s _that_ Videl?”

“Yes, the cyborgs killed my dad seventeen years ago. Wow, like I’ve never been taunted with _that_ before.”

“He thought he was pretty hot shit.”

“So do you,” Videl snorted.

“There’s thirteen of us and one of you. Last I checked, you couldn’t fly or shoot lightening from your hands or whatever. If you think you can dodge bullets, you’re welcome to try.”

Videl examined them, considering. She’d had worse odds, really.

“That would be a fucking waste of bullets,” one of the other men said. “Just get the bike and let’s go. We got better shit to do.”

One of the women shrugged and turned away to head for the bike. “We’re all pretty much worm food now.”

“Sorry, babe, we need the parts,” said another of the men.

Videl scowled, hating them as one of them lifted the motorcycle to put it on a trailer attached to a truck in order to haul it away. Three of the men approached her and moved to grab her pack. Videl was on her feet in a flash, zipping around them and shaking her head. 

“Don’t,” she said, a warning in her voice. “I need this. You’ve already taken my bike, assholes.”

“And we asked for your pack,” said the first man.

“I’m fucking warning you,” Videl snarled. 

“Or what?” asked the second, pointing his gun in her face.

Videl slammed the heel of her palm into his sternum. She felt it snap. In a flash, she had his gun, breaking his arm and pointing the weapon at the first man. The third one dove at her, she flickered under his arm and slammed her boot into his ribs. Four of them gave way and he cried out. Videl grabbed his head, slamming it into her knee and then reaching to his side. She pulled his knife just as the first man grabbed her. She stabbed up and into his chest, tearing through his lungs. He dropped like a stone.

One of the women rolled her eyes. “Idiots. Send us a postcard from West City, radio star.” She got up into the trailer and waved for the driver of the truck to go.

Videl did not dare turn her back on them until they were gone. They’d dismissed their comrades so easily. It was…sad, really. But not sad enough to keep Videl from looting them. Two of them were still alive. She left them lying in the road.

It took her an hour and a half to walk the remaining five miles. She entered West City at dusk. 

The city was mostly destroyed but there was a sort of ethereal beauty to it as the sun cast its orange and purple rays over ruble and dirt. Capsule Corp’s headquarters was near the city center and so she headed in that direction, zipping up her jacket as the air started to cool with approaching night. The stars, thousands of them, winked out without light pollution to drown them. A few other people were hurrying to and fro, getting some last supplies before dark. None of them stopped to talk to her.

She rounded the corner on Capsule Boulevard. The massive compound was still standing. Parts of it had been destroyed but most of it still seemed intact. She skimmed her fingers along the stone wall as she walked beside it, looking for an entrance gate. When she found it, she stopped. One of the gates was half-hanging on its hinges. The other was still functional. She could hop right over it, no problem, of course, but she didn’t.

Mostly because someone was standing on the other side.

He was tallish, muscular and handsome and he watched her closely. He had purple hair.

“Evening,” he said, breathe fogging out in the dim light. It was simply a statement. Not friendly but not hostile.

She nodded. “Evening. Are you Trunks Briefs?”

“Yes,” the man said quietly, watching her place herself squarely in front of the busted gates.

“I heard you can fly.”

“Yes.”

“Can you teach me?”

Something in his eyes darkened. He sighed. “Most people who’ve asked me that haven’t had the sufficient training to control their energy like that.”

“I’ve had a lot. Ever since I was a little girl. My father and mother had me start when I was about five. Before the cyborgs came. I’ve been fighting ever since.”

Trunks peered at her for a long moment. “What’s your name?”

“Videl.”

“Your energy does seem to be higher than average.” Still, he was quiet for a moment before he stepped forward to let her inside the gates.

“Trunks! Is everything all right?” Bulma came out of her workshop, wiping her hands with an oily rag.

“We have a visitor, Mom.”

Bulma chuckled. “Oh, you should have told me it was a pretty girl, Trunks!”

Trunks and Videl both sighed at the same moment. 

“Her name is Videl. She wants to learn to fly.”

“Videl?” Bulma asked, eyes narrowing at the woman, studying her.

“Just Videl,” said Videl. “I’ve been training since I was a little girl. Since before the cyborgs came. I can learn.”

“Where are you from, Videl?” Bulma asked, as they headed inside. Trunks flanked the woman, in case she tried anything funny.

“South City, I mean, before the Twins showed up. I’ve been hiding out in Pesto for about five years.”

Trunks looked at her sidelong as they entered the kitchen, where Bulma went to get another mug. “There hasn’t been anyone in Pesto for a long time.”

“I was there when a few dozen people still lived there. Then some raiders came and murdered them when I was running supplies. I didn’t know people were still in West City but traveling on the road now is dangerous on foot.”

“What happened to your arms?” Bulma asked, suddenly seeing her mangled skin in the warm light of the kitchen.

“Road burn,” Videl said. “I got about halfway here on my motorcycle before I was ambushed. 

“You should have radio’d us!” Bulma exclaimed. “We could have come out to meet you!”

Videl glanced down at the table. “There was no reason to endanger anyone else,” she said, quietly.

Trunks looked down at well. The sentiment was relatable. It reminded him of Gohan.

“Well, sit down, young lady. I’ll get your arms bandaged and some food in you. You look way too thin. Besides, Trunks is so quiet—it’s nice to have someone else around to talk to.”

Videl managed a small half-smile. “I’ve heard that you maintain a boost here for all the radio operators within range, Ms Briefs.”

“Just call me Bulma. And yes. You ever use it?”

“Sometimes. I asked Jaida out of Martinsand if anyone knew where you were from.” She glanced up to nod at Trunks. “She told me someone said you were one of the Briefs and that you were probably still holed up in West City.”

“I wonder if there’s anything left of Martinsand. We only ever hear Jaida. She seems nice,” Bulma smiled a little and got out a box of bandages while Trunks took over the tea kettle and a pot of noodles with cheese sauce. “Though I guess it’s strange to be friends with people we’ve never seen.”

“Not in times like these,” Videl said, tensing a little when Bulma came right up to her and took her arm to examine it.

“Trunks, go and get one of my shirts from the laundry room. One without sleeves so Videl can change into something clean.”

Her son did so, bringing back a tank top and some sweatpants. Trunks then disappeared into the kitchen to tend to the pasta while Videl was led off by Bulma to have a shower (her first hot shower since….well, forever) and change clothes. 

“Don’t mind Trunks,” Bulma told her briskly when Videl followed her back to the kitchen. “He’s rather solitary, kind of a loner. I suppose a lot of kids are now….even Gohan became like that after the cyborgs came.”

“I heard Gohan could fly too—and that he glowed.”

“Yes, he did.” Bulma glanced at her, found the young woman watching her. “Gohan died a few years ago.”

“He sounds like a good person,” Videl said carefully.

“He was,” Bulma smiled sadly to herself and took a deep breath. “Well. It’s good to have some company. Gohan’s mother, Chi-Chi, doesn’t come around as much as I’d like. I keep inviting her but…she seems to have just…lost interest in a lot of things after losing Gohan.”

Videl, who didn’t know Chi-Chi from Kami, listened sympathetically. The poor woman just seemed to want to talk to someone. Videl could understand that. It got lonely, sometimes, just waiting for the twins to attack again.

Videl hadn’t actually eaten a meal with anyone in years. It was strange to sit down with the two of them and be encouraged over and over again to have a second bowl of pasta. Trunks relaxed enough to ask her about her previous training and indicated they could start the next day.

Bulma insisted she stay the night, happily picking out a nightdress for the young woman to wear. Videl did not complain. The bedroom Bulma opened up for her was warm. The bed was almost uncomfortably soft. She left the closet light on when she finally relaxed enough to lie down. It was better to have some light, in case the twins showed up in the dark. 

It was still hard to fall asleep.

When she did, she dreamed about her father.


	3. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right,” said Trunks, brightening as he pointed at her. “And the energy from a plane doesn’t come from the wings. It comes from the engine.”
> 
> Videl brightened, eyes sharpening with understanding. “Oh! I get it.”
> 
> “That’s what I’m talking about,” Trunks said, managing a little half-smile. “You need to feel it in your gut, not in your fists.”
> 
> \-----------------------------------------

Channel seventy had an enthusiastic person who aptly called himself DeadJam, or, the DJ. No one missed the reference and perhaps that was part of DJ’s charm. He had his radio on all the time, at all hours. Bandit on one-forty-one tended to read only at night. But DJ must have either removed his key-in button on his handset or he had it sitting in a stand like a microphone because sometimes, he would just talk. He would talk at all hours about all kinds of things. Some days it was wistful memories about days before the cyborg purge, other days it was about how they, as people, should rebuild. Or even _if_ they should rebuild. But most of the time, he played music. He would talk about it every time he found an old computer or an abandoned jumpdrive covered in dust that he’d found while exploring a ruined building. 

Sometimes he would ruminate on who might have owned the item. If he had taken it off a corpse, he would always describe the person and talk about who he or she might have been. And then he would somehow get it open on whatever setup he had and explore the contents. If there was music, he always took it and made a playlist out of it. Each playlist, he’d told anyone who was listening to channel seventy, was named after the person he’d taken it off of. Though whether he made the names up or somehow was able to discern their identities, no one really knew. 

This was a regular channel that Bulma would flip to during the day. So when DJ keyed in and announced Jeremy’s playlist, Trunks heard it out in the front yard. He mostly tuned it out as he watched Videl move through various tai-chi forms so he could analyze her muscle and energy control. But it was sort of like watching a music video, in an odd sort of way—hearing an old song about shining like a diamond, while watching Videl. It was almost cheesy. He shook himself and took a breath. “Videl.”

She stopped, looking over at him. “What do you think?”

Trunks thought on the question for a moment and then approached. “Do you feel the strength in your hands?”

She glanced at her fists, then up at him. “Yeah.”

Trunks went to a small stand he’d set up. It was basically just a slab of concrete attached to an old stop sign and cemented in a large anchor of stone. “It’s difficult to explain, I guess, but that’s what you _don’t_ want.”

“What I don’t want?” Videl asked him.

“Yeah,” Trunks said. He raised his fist. “This kind of strength doesn’t come from the muscle. It comes from the energy inside your body.” He punched the concrete and saw her eyes widen when it cracked. “I don’t feel that with my fist,” he said. “At all. It’s like punching through a paper door. Because the power isn’t here. It’s here.” He placed his hand over his solar plexus. “I know I punched something. It reverberates through the energy. But it’s a spiritual awareness more than a physical one.”

“Like….god?” Videl asked, tilting her head a little.

Trunks looked down. “I don’t know. I don’t really believe in god. But the kind of power that lets you fly comes from within. You have to expel more energy than it takes for gravity to keep you down.”

“Like a rocket or a plane.”

“Right,” said Trunks, brightening as he pointed at her. “And the energy from a plane doesn’t come from the wings. It comes from the engine.”

Videl brightened, eyes sharpening with understanding. “Oh! I get it.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Trunks said, managing a little half-smile. “You need to feel it in your gut, not in your fists.”

Videl looked intrigued with the idea. She looked at the ground, focusing hard to bring all that energy inward instead of out towards her fists. It was like drawing a sheet back. It made her hands and arms feel raw and exposed but she felt…rooted. Like a stone. It suddenly felt hard to breathe.

“That’s the feeling,” Trunks said, watching her closely. “You become hyper aware of everything around you. Now that you’re _aware_ of it, you have to learn to _focus_ that energy.”

She looked up at him, searching his face. Her expression was calm, thoughtful, waiting for him to go on.

“This is how Gohan taught me,” he said quietly and sat down on his knees. Videl mimicked him, sitting on her knees in front of him to watch. The half-saiyan took a deep breath and as he breathed out, he stilled into himself. Like a ripple of water in reverse. A little bead of light formed between his hands as he cupped an invisible bowl in the air. Trunks opened his eyes, focusing on that warm button of light. 

Gohan had shown him how to do it when he was five and Gohan was fifteen.

Trunks ached for a moment, thinking about the Gohan he’d met in the past. How that Gohan would be fifteen one day and might teach a younger him to control his energy because they were literally the only hope left of defeating the cyborgs and if Trunks had any hope at all of surviving into adulthood, he needed to become a super saiyan as soon as possible. Gohan had tried to keep the responsibility on his own shoulders for as long as he could because, if he couldn’t defeat one cyborg even as a super saiyan, and Trunks were killed before he could even hit that first barrier—hadn’t _wanted_ Trunks killed. Hadn’t wanted Trunks to have to fight at all. Gohan didn’t even enjoy fighting but here he had to, teaching Trunks before he even really understood what he was—with the possibility that _two_ super saiyans might _just_ be able to take down one of the cyborgs. If they could separate the twins, somehow take one out so they couldn’t help each other. Then gang up on the last one and finally free their world from all this destruction—

But Gohan was dead.

Trunks took another deep breath, drawing away from that pain—that raw pain, like an exposed nerve that fueled a lurking rage. It drew up, cold and hard like ice whenever he faced Seventeen and Eighteen. It burned inside of him. The helplessness. And the deepset, cold rage.

He lifted his eyes. Videl was staring at him. Something in her eyes darkened and she lowered her gaze to the ball of light he’d created. 

“Do you feel how it’s different?” Trunks asked her.

“It’s….it’s like….it’s weird.” She thought about it for a moment. “It’s a ball of light made of energy. But the energy _feels_ …something. It feels…I didn’t even realize energy could… _channel_ a feeling. Is this what people mean when they talk about auras?”

“Yes. This is what they mean.”

“But it felt….” Videl struggled for a moment before settling on, “….hopeless. Helpless. Despair. And also….rage.” Videl breathed, looking at his hands again. “….so much rage. But quiet. Like the eye of a storm.”

Trunks closed his hands, dispelling the energy. He looked at the ground and took a slow, deep breath. “Power inside of you can be channeled by intense emotion. It’s what gives a regular human the power to, say—lift a car when someone they love is trapped under it. But we normally can’t sustain it. When you fly, you have to sustain that feeling. Gohan said he sustained it with determination. Because he _had_ to. Because there was no one else.”

“What do you sustain it with?” Videl asked quietly, glancing up at him.

He met her eyes and then looked down. “I couldn’t do it with determination. I had to use rage.”

Videl felt something raw pass between them as she suddenly understood that the feelings she’d sensed from the energy had been his own. She swallowed around the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. She had grown up before. Before the androids came. She knew about freedom and happiness and not being afraid of the sunlight.

Perhaps, he’d never known anything but the cyborgs. 

Helplessness. Like when she watched her father bleed out on the platform while the cyborgs stood over him, looking bored. 

Videl looked down into her hands. 

Trunks watched her, just sitting with her on the grass. He felt her focus inward, felt her searching for emotion. For any emotion. For any _strong_ emotion. Something that could sustain her. Felt the numbness that her aura radiated start to crackle apart. He’d been able to see it when she arrived. It was like a shell, she wore it like armor. Someone who had known the world Before and had to build up a wall against it. The key to feeling the intensity she needed wasn’t to feel nothing…but to _choose_ to feel _something_. And let that something be what drives you. Trunks hadn’t understood it until Gohan died. He’d always tried to ignore it, to fight that helplessness when what he’d needed, was to let it fuel his need. His _rage_. But he’d understood too late. And Gohan was dead.

Trunks shook himself to refocus on Videl. He’d never really…had someone describe his aura to him before. It was bringing all kinds of things to the surface—but this wasn’t the time. He needed to stay calm and collected in order to help her understand.

He took a deep breath to settle himself and block out doubt and hesitation. He watched the woman. She looked a little older than him, but it couldn’t be by a lot. She wasn’t as old as his mother, definitely. She carried herself confidently but she was guarded. Rather like Gohan had been sometimes. Like how his mother sometimes felt when she was having a bad day. 

He felt Videl shift herself and suddenly she seemed to fit something together, like a key to a lock or a piece to a puzzle. Her aura flared and he felt stubbornness, pride, anger. She was _better_. She could be _more_. She _was_ more. Something in her flared to that feeling, her fists clenched and her eyes glazed over.

He watched something sharpen in them as all her focus latched into that feeling. And she lost all sense of self-awareness, sinking into that spike of feeling and struggling to keep it steady as her breathing stilted. She took a deep breath and unclenched her hands, letting them sit in the air with the invisible bowl.

Unconsciously, her body relaxed, her shoulders slumped and her head sank an inch as her focus further intensified. He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He just watched until it happened.

There was a bead of light. A bubble. A button. It grew to about the size of a grape and she gasped at it, seeming surprised with herself but desperately clinging to it to keep it stable. She held it for as long as she could before it faded and she careened to the side. Trunks reached out, touching her shoulders to steady her. 

“I think I might throw up,” she said quietly.

“Yeah. That’s not uncommon when you first start controlling it, at least—Gohan said it wasn’t. Until you get used to it. It puts a different kind of stress on your body. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” she said softly.

“We’ll work on just this then, until you can keep the energy in your hands and stable,” Trunks told her. “And then as it grows and your control stabilizes, you’ll be able to direct it around you at will. And then you’ll be able to hover.”

“Holy shit,” Videl said, eyes widening. “So that means you control the energy to fly and _fight_ at the same time? Holy shit.”

The unexpected impressed tone made him half-smile, chuckling a little. “It definitely, uh, takes some practice. You have the potential, you just didn’t know. But we’ll get you there, Videl.” Trunks stood up.

Videl followed, refocusing herself so she wouldn’t be dizzy. She hadn’t even sparred but she felt exhausted. Emotionally, physically…maybe even spiritually exhausted. It was….odd.

But also fascinating. 

It was dark by the time they went inside. Bulma had made sandwiches. 

Afterwards, Trunks left the house. He flew out to the cliffs outside of West City and sat on top of one. He studied the moonlight on the water, the stars that salted the dark sky. Seeing Gohan as a child had been more difficult than he’d anticipated. It was too easy to see the man Gohan would become.

Trunks buried his eyes in his palm.

 

 

Chi-Chi came by the next day. She stopped by the gates, one hand on the cold metal as she watched Trunks in the yard. She felt sorrier for the boy than she could ever tell him. And every time she saw him, she missed Gohan. He usually trained by himself now. Another child forced into fighting in a cruel, cruel world. 

Thus, it was strange to see that he was actually sparring with someone else. Chi-Chi might have become a housewife, but she could still see auras. Trunks’ was low, carefully controlled as he dodged a punch from a dark-haired woman. Her aura was blazing but unstable, unpredictable. Like a flame. Like Goku’s when she’d first met him all those years ago. Like her own was, when she took the time to look at it. It had faded over time, almost disappeared completely when Gohan died. But something about watching the dark-haired woman gave her pause. 

_Remember when that was you, Chi-Chi?_

Chi-Chi froze. 

_So focused on your own pain, while Trunks bore the real brunt of everything._

She watched the woman flip around him, jabbing at him with her hand’s edge. Trunks effortlessly grabbed her wrist and pushed it aside. 

_Now, flip up to catch the side of his head._

But the dark-haired woman didn’t. She tried to punch again and Trunks had only to shift six inches forward and nudge her knee. Her foot slid three inches, throwing off her balance and her punch went wild. Trunks stepped aside and let her fall to the ground.

_What they lack is experience._

Chi-Chi looked at her hands, wondering how on earth she’d never thought of that before. Everything in her life had been so focused on Goku and Gohan. Losing Goku twice had ravaged her nerves. Losing Gohan almost drove her to madness. The only thing she’d ever wanted to protect more than her own life…and she was helpless. 

But she wasn’t useless.

Trunks had been right in front of her for years. She had been so submerged in her own pain, in throwing herself into honing her whole world around Gohan—that when he died, everything went dark. Yet, the boy he’d tried so hard to help, to mentor—she hadn’t cared at all about him. She could have helped him. She could have, at least, given him some guidance. She had more experience in regards to combat. Trunks only knew the androids. 

Chi-Chi blinked to shake herself. Why she’d never been struck by this—she didn’t know. She could only chalk it up to watching the dark-haired woman. She was trying so hard, whoever she was. The determination, the pride, the frustration was burning in her aura. Something like hope. 

Chi-Chi walked across the grass, watching the dark-haired woman get up. 

“You have to remember to root yourself in the ground, Videl. You put all your focus on the punch so you didn’t even sense me moving to knock you off balance.”

“It’s…it’s really hard to break the habit. I was always taught to focus my energy at the striking point. It’s like, I have to go back and relearn how to….fight.”

Trunks nodded a little. “That’s…actually pretty accurate.”

“But I’m—I’ve worked for _so_ long and basically, you’re telling me that what I know is useless.” She sounded frustrated with herself, running her fingers through her hair. “I mean—it’s not you, Trunks. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

“I know,” Trunks said quietly, looking at the grass again. “It’s…frustrating.”

“It’s infuriating!” Videl exclaimed, throwing her hands up. She took a breath and then did a double-take when she saw Chi-Chi.

“Good afternoon,” Chi-Chi said, nodding to her a little and again to Trunks when he turned around.

“Hello, Chi-Chi” Trunks said quietly. “Are you looking for my mom? She’s inside—she told me you were coming by.”

The older woman nodded a little. “Yes, I was just wondering—who is this?”

Trunks glanced her. “This is Videl. She’s asked me to teach her how to fly.”

“Ma’am,” said Videl, nodding to her in greeting.

“No regular person has ever trained long enough to actually spar with you, Trunks.”

“I was brought up learning to fight,” Videl said, examining Chi-Chi. “Ever since I was a little girl.”

Chi-Chi sighed. “Some other parent forcing their children to learn to fight without even knowing if they want to or not. Reminds me of Goku.” She smiled a little. “You have some skill—but you’ll need more practice to get by Trunks.”

Trunks blinked, looking surprised at the unexpected praise and then awkwardly looked away. “Uh—I don’t have…near the experience that Gohan did. Or that anyone else does, Chi-Chi.”

“Not anymore,” Chi-Chi said, looking thoughtfully at Videl. “When Goku was seventeen, he had already taken on the Red Ribbon army. He had a lot of combat experience. He just seemed…drawn to it, almost. He couldn’t remember his shoes half the time but he understood energy and combat in a way that no one else did.”

Videl started. “Wait, you’re only _seventeen_?!” 

Trunks shifted awkwardly, looking like he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and get the attention off himself. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Videl snorted. “This is bullshit.”

Chi-Chi burst out laughing. It was a strange sound in the quiet yard. “Right?”

“I—what…” Trunks began, looking a little confused.

“It’s the handicap of only being human,” Chi-Chi said to Videl, examining the young woman closer. Something about her posture, the restrained aggression—Chi-Chi was reminded, once again, of herself. “But it just means you have to work harder. You have skill, young lady. What you lack, is experience. Both of you lack experience. Goku, Vegeta, Piccolo—they’d been fighting since before you were born. Usually each other—at least, it seemed that way sometimes. My father brought me up to fight, and I did it for twenty years…until I met Goku.”

Videl blinked. “You…you’re Goku’s wife, aren’t you?”

“And Gohan’s mother,” Trunks said quietly, looking at the ground. 

Videl looked between Trunks and Chi-Chi and suddenly understood why Trunks was curling his shoulders in and not looking at Chi-Chi. He felt _guilty_. Whatever had happened to Gohan, he blamed himself. She felt a spark of annoyance. What if Chi-Chi had _blamed_ Trunks? The kid certainly didn’t fucking deserve that. Her eyes narrowed at Chi-Chi. “I’ve heard about Gohan. He sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” Chi-Chi said quietly. 

“The cyborgs….they killed him, didn’t they?” Videl asked.

Chi-Chi’s face darkened and she nodded. “They did. Trunks brought his body back for us that day….”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Videl said, more sharply than she intended. 

Chi-Chi blinked. “What? Oh—no, I don’t blame Trunks. It’s those damn androids. God knows if I could fly, I’d show them a thing or two.”

Videl relaxed a little. “You can’t fly?”

“After I got married, I stopped fighting,” Chi-Chi said. “I didn’t want Gohan to have to grow up like I did. Didn’t do a lot of good, I suppose, looking back.”

“You could learn, though, right? I mean, I can see your energy just fine,” Videl said, examining her in return.

“Maybe someday,” Chi-Chi allowed. And then she looked to the half-saiyan. “Trunks…you…should come by some time. There are some things that I think Gohan would like you to have.”

Trunks blinked, staring at her, wide-eyed. “Oh,” he said, clumsily. “I….okay.”

Chi-Chi nodded to him and turned away to go inside and speak to Bulma.

Videl had her arms crossed. She scowled a little and looked at Trunks. “Are you okay?”

“I, oh—yes,” he stammered. “I just…she’s never really spoken to me before.”

“Well, if you’re seventeen then you’re like my little brother. So if she ever blames you for Gohan, I’ve got your back.”

Trunks floundered, looking completely out of sorts. “Oh. Um. Th-thank you.”

Videl grunted.


	4. Bad Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s crazy, wow. So then these two saiyans—wait, what happened to Nappa?”
> 
> “He died too.”
> 
> Videl chuckled a little. “Geez, it sounds dangerous to be a saiyan around here.”  
> \--------------------

Trunks couldn’t breathe.

He choked, crying out. It strangled in his throat. His stomach clenched and dropped. He was pressed in, pressed in smaller and smaller. He reached desperately for any purchase. Any hint of light. Any chance of escape. Scrambling uselessly at the fleshy walls, covered in blood and skin and bits of bone from the countless bodies that fueled this monster—

Trunks lunged. His nose hit something, everything was dark but sharp with the pain. He felt the world spin and then something stopped him. Blearily, his blue eyes opened, breathing raggedly. It took him several seconds to recognize the person leaning over him. 

“Trunks, it’s okay.”

His gaze sharpened on her. “Videl?” And then suddenly, he was aware again. He was lying on the floor next to his bed. Videl was supporting him, protecting his head. He sat up. “What—I’m sorry. I—I must have—“ he cut himself off, feeling tear tracks on his cheeks and rubbing his eyes furiously. 

“You were having a nightmare,” Videl said, low and calm, steady. “Your mother asked me to wake you.”

“I’m sorry,” Trunks said again, quietly. He glanced towards the door. Light from the hallway was streaming into the dark, his mother stood there, fingers twisting into her sleeves. She was helpless—if Trunks struck out blindly—he might accidentally kill her. “I’m sorry, mom.”

Bulma shook her head, didn’t seem to trust herself to speak. 

Videl looked between the two of them and stepped towards the kid’s mother. “Bulma—why don’t you go lie down? I’ll stay with Trunks for a little bit.”

“You don’t need to,” Trunks rasped out. “I’m fine.”

Videl looked at him sharply, narrowing her eyes. He looked down. 

Bulma nodded, still looking shaky and rubbed her arms as she walked back down the hallway. She felt crushing cold despair. Her poor boy. Her poor brave strong boy. 

_Haunted. He’s so…haunted._

Bulma covered her mouth with her hand, ducking into her bedroom and gently shutting the door. She slid down against the wall, wrapping her arms around herself and sobbed for everything lost.

 

 

 

 

Videl sat at the kitchen table with Trunks. He looked a little awkward, not really sure what to say to her. He was so uncertain sometimes—he had no confidence. Before the androids, he would have been astounding. But now, she supposed…fighting was just pain. There was no reward. 

“I’m…sorry. I….” Trunks trained off and wrapped his fingers around his mug. “Thanks for the tea.”

“It’s all right, kiddo.” Videl said to her teacup. She struggled for a moment and then said, “My dad was Mark Satan. He won the twenty-fourth World Martial Arts Tournament. He’d trained really hard for it and he won it fairly. Afterwards, he kind of turned into an asshole. But he’d trained in a dojo and everything. And he’d killed people before. Sometimes it had to be done. But sometimes he dreamed about it. My nanny told me about it. He would wake up sweating, pale and drawn; seeming almost dazed. I never understood until I started having dreams like that. Something more than a nightmare—something that just bites you in half. After the androids came, I suppose a lot of people know that feeling. They’re so real, you can still feel it when you wake up.”

Trunks stared at her and swallowed hard. “….yeah.” He looked down at the cup. “I can’t breathe. And I hear the screaming.”

Videl felt his aura shift. It was still controlled but it felt agitated, needling, spiking and shuddering around him, pulling him into the feeling that he got when he thought about the screaming. 

“The cyborgs….just…pain. How much pain they cause. And being with the people who survive afterwards. Knowing I could _save_ them if I were just….strong enough,” his voice broke a little, falling raggedly from him. He screwed his eyes shut. “That I could have saved Gohan if I had been strong enough…” He swallowed hard, fighting to keep control of the sudden flood of despair and rage. Bubbling up like lava in his throat, he took a hard breathe to cool it.

“Trunks,” Videl said. “You did what you could.”

“If I’d gone, I could have saved him,” he said quietly.

“Or…the androids would have killed both of you and there would be no hope for anyone.”

Trunks startled a little. He peered at her.

“Seems like Gohan would rather risk some hope, than risk no hope at all.”

Trunks looked back at the table. He stared into his teacup but the numb expression was gone. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought about that. “Yeah,” he said quietly, after a moment. “….you’re right.” 

Something in his aura settled. There was a strange _finality_ to it that Videl had a tough time trying to pinpoint. Something rooted, locking, silent and solid, like a metal door. 

“You wanna go practice?” Videl asked him quietly.

Trunks looked at her under his mussed hair. He nodded.

 

 

 

When she had started to see a different side of Vegeta, it made her reflect on what he came to mean to her, especially after he died. They had come together in a way that surprised no one—except themselves. They’d both seen the other as completely incompatible in every way. So much that neither had ever considered the other as any kind of company except bad. But when he started living in the Briefs compound (as much for all the surrounding lives’ protection as it was for his own) she saw a great deal more of him. 

He was arrogant in a different way from Yamcha. The former-bandit wanted applause just for showing up. Vegeta gave, literally, no fucks. At all. She could admire his focus, determination and stubbornness when it came to hard work. Something difficult was simply another challenge. How she looked at gears and memory chips and computer screens was exactly how he viewed fighting. But whenever they weren’t doing those things, their lives were a total wreck. 

When Bulma didn’t have a soldering gun in hand, she had to keep herself distracted. She became more cynical, more fiery, more fuck you selfish. She needed constant activity so she wouldn’t let herself think about how she’d met Goku and unwittingly drew him into this whole mess with the dragonballs. He and his group of friends, who came together through the bonds of battle, had died more than once in terrible ways—while she watched from a far, unable to assist. What if she could have made better tools? Some new piece of tech that would help them? She was beautiful, she was brilliant—why couldn’t she come up with a way to help? What if she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was? 

Oh, that was a bad direction.

When Vegeta wasn’t training, he prowled the compound. He was always silent, seemed restlessly agitated. It wasn’t a certainty if he’d threaten your life or if he would allow a few moments of neutral small talk. 

He barked out things to her sometimes and she bit back. They became pricklier around each other. He was raised a prince and found her duality of intelligence, flightiness and utter stubbornness to be intolerable. She was raised like a princess and found his arrogance both incredibly irritating but also really familiar. Vegeta was a worthy opponent. 

And despite the fact that he could likely kill her with one poke in the head, Bulma threw derisive condescending at him. She showed absolutely no fear of him and she spit remarks biting enough to compete with his own. But he respected that. Not even Kakorot’s idiot friends could manage that. A pity she wasn’t a fighter.

_Or a Saiyan._

 

Vegeta jerked away from that thought. He scowled at his hands, resting on the desk before him. He couldn’t really remember what he’d been thinking about. Being still and relatively safe were strange feelings. Ones that he didn’t really know how to sort out. His mind had wandered to Bulma, the repulsive, human woman. 

He huffed, shoving his chair away to walk another lap around the compound.

She _was_ a lot like a saiyan woman. A few had likely escaped Freiza’s purge, more than a few had been off-planet at the time. They would have liked Bulma, and at least could respect her intelligence. They were all fierce and commanding. The saiyans were a warrior race—and they didn’t have the same stupid concept of gender roles that this planet had. If you were a fighter, you fucking fought. No one gave a shit whether you had a dick or tits. Since female saiyans were somewhat uncommon—they _were_ advised to take care of themselves. And anyone in a group with a woman were always advised to keep an eye on them. But it was because only they could bear children and females were only born about twenty percent of the time. It wasn’t uncommon for a saiyan woman to have multiple suitors. There was no marriage on Vegeta (the planet), not like they had here. You didn’t bind a woman to a man. Why would he be assumed to be stronger than her? If she could whip his ass, what the fuck was he asking her to obey for and why the fuck was she letting him ask? Waste of time. If her talent was fighting and his was farming—you don’t make him fight and her farm. That’s how shitty planets made their shitty fighters. Apparently Earth was no fucking exception.

Strangely, Vegeta found he _could_ imagine her as a fighter, if she’d been brought up into it. He paused in the hallway, glancing through some of the windows that allowed him to see into one of their laboratories. She was focused on some machine that computed things for her. She seemed to feel his gaze and she glanced up.

The two of them silently examined the other.

“What!” Bulma snapped, finally.

Vegeta heard himself give a soft, short amused snort and then he looked away, scowling to himself and stalking off.

She must have taken that personally because she stormed out into the hallway and followed him. “Hey! You creep! What’s your problem!”

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Leave me alone, woman.”

“I don’t take order from shitheads like you. You think I haven’t dealt with morons like you my whole life?”

“How many people like you do you think I’ve killed?” Vegeta snapped back.

“Not many because there aren’t a lot of people as smart or as beautiful as me, you arrogant dick.”

“Smart? I hadn’t noticed,” he sneered and headed into one of the small libraries. It was empty. 

Or was. Until she followed him in. “So, you noticed that I’m beautiful. Well, I guess that’s a good start.”

Vegeta started a little. “Ah—what?” He scowled at her. “Do you think everything is about you?”

“At least I can admit it.”

“Leave me alone. Why don’t you go simper after Kakarrot or that bandit.”

“Yamcha? Ew. No. And Goku is sweet but kind of stupid.”

“We agree on that, at least,” he crossed his arms. 

A weird silence fell as they considered each other. She was wearing a lab smock but it was open. Under it, she had on one of her sleeveless tops that let the swell of her breasts peek above the fabric. She was wearing denim cutoffs and sneakers. She…. _was_ beautiful, in an eccentric, selfish, lazy afternoon sort of way. She was usually very meticulous about her appearance—until she was working on something. And then that all fell by the wayside. 

“See something you like, your highness?”

Vegeta scowled. “Stop following me, you idiot!” He stomped out of the library.

Bulma stayed there, thoughtfully considering his lingering stare. She hadn’t _actually_ considered it but what if he _did_ find her attractive. Something about that was…thrilling. He was so carefully controlled. So intense, strong, powerful and stubborn. And he—

Ugh, but he was _such_ an asshole.

But then…he’d saved Gohan on Namek. And Gohan and Krillin had told her about his tearful end. Behind that jackass veneer, there was someone who had never been permitted any kind of vulnerability. It was…rather intriguing. 

And Bulma loved a challenge.

Perhaps it was inevitable in such close quarters? She started fixing his gear when he inevitably smashed it. She looked in on the gravity chamber when he wasn’t using it, contemplating on how she might improve it. After all, he wanted to get stronger. The poor idiot defined himself by his strength. It was the only frame of reference he’d ever had. 

And maybe, she had to consider, as she tweaked the controls and opened up the panels to the force generator….that maybe she felt a little sorry for him. He was still an asshole, of course. But…there was something—

“What are _you_ doing in here, woman?”

She glanced behind her, where Vegeta was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “Checking to make sure you haven’t blown any more fuses, idiot.”

“My goal is not to destroy it. This is the only such chamber that I know of.”

The neutrality of his response caught her off-guard a little. “Oh, well. Good. I mean. If you can keep yourself from breaking all your bones, I might be able to increase the force within the chamber.” She stood up, turning around to face him. She was wearing a jumpsuit, unzipped to her waist with a tank top underneath. She was smeared in oil and grease. She caught his eye travel over her and then he scowled and looked away. “You know, you don’t have to be shy.”

The saiyan started a little. “What?”

“You think you’re so sly. Come _on_.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Tch, I know I’m hot,” Bulma smirked at him. “And you _think_ you’re strong—but you don’t actually believe it, right?”

His eyes darkened, narrowing at her. “I am the strongest person on this miserable planet.”

She sauntered towards him. “Then why is it so easy for me to get under your skin?”

“Because you’re pathetic and needy?” He fired back.

Bulma sneered. “And you’re insecure and terrified of being weaker than Goku.”

His hand lashed out, grabbing her by the throat. It pinned her securely in place. Just one squeeze and her eyeballs would be decorating the floor. 

And yet she _scoffed_ at him. “Don’t like the truth? Have to kill everything that tells poor baby Vegeta what he doesn’t want to hear? I guess you don’t want a better gravity chamber after all, do you?”

Vegeta glared at her and for a moment, she faltered. Maybe she’d crossed a line and he really _would_ kill her—

He snorted and smirked. “I can feel your heartbeat, woman. You act fearless when you know I could tear you limb from limb. But I can feel the truth. Your heartbeat has increased, your breathing is shallow, and your eyes have dilated. Your body is preparing for the flight response. Because you’re weak.”

“Oh, and you’re going to show how tough you are by killing me?”

“You aren’t worth killing.”

Bulma reached up, gently placing her palm over the fingers he had on her throat. She watched his face shift to confusion. She stroked his knuckles with her thumb. His eyes darkened and—

And he let go, pulling away with a jerk. “Leave me be. Go away.”

“As you wish,” she said, a smirk and simper, knowing she’d won that round as she turned and left the chamber. 

 

 

 

“Your left!” Trunks warned.

Videl dropped to her back and Trunks swung at empty air. He staggered, looking down at her in surprise. Just in time for her foot to slam into his jaw. He staggered back and ruefully rubbed his cheek. “Should have paid better attention,” he said, sounding apologetic.

“Humans fight a lot dirtier than the cyborgs. They’re pretty straight-forward compared to regular people.”

“Ha, I guess it seems strange to say….” Trunks mused. “I’ve never….really fought regular people. It was always Gohan. Or the cyborgs. There’s never been anyone else.”

Videl peered at him. “So you’ve….pretty much just been alone with your mom?”

He nodded a little. “The androids appeared when I was less than a year old. This is all I know,” he said, looking around to indicate their devastated world in its entirety. 

“What about Gohan? Wasn’t he a fighter?”

“Yes but…” Trunks hesitated. “Well. He didn’t really…like fighting all that much. And his experience was….actually very similar to mine.”

Videl gestured to Bulma’s patio table, some lanterns bobbing in the breeze and the remains of some broken logs that Trunks had taken his anger out on. When they sat, Videl leaned back in her chair. “All right so….okay—who _are_ you?”

Trunks looked uncertain. “What do you mean?”

“How do you do….how do you glow? How did you learn to fly? How did Gohan learn to fly? Why did Chi-Chi say being human was a handicap? Who _are_ you, really?”

“Trunks Briefs.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “And?”

“And…I…look, it’s—“

“You and Chi-Chi didn’t look alike at _all_. Were you and Gohan cousins?”

“No,” Trunks admitted, looking away from her. “But….well….we, uh, we did share something in common.”

“What, like—you had the same dad?”

“No, no, but….well, our dads were both from a different planet.”

“Which one?”

“Uh, it was called Vegeta—it was where the Saiyans lived.”

“The Saiyans?” She asked.

“Well, they were a race of….like a warrior culture, my mom told me. And for them, punching buildings apart was just…normal.”

“So Gohan’s dad and your dad came from this same planet? Vegeta?”

“Yeah, um….” Trunks shifted a little awkwardly. “I don’t typically….talk to people about it. I mean, Mom never wants to discuss it.”

“Are they dead, then?”

“Yeah, Goku died before the cyborgs. Vegeta died after they appeared.”

Videl paused. “Vegeta—wait, the planet—?”

“Yes—I mean, no. I mean—he was named after the planet.”

“Oh!” Videl mused thoughtfully. “Huh. Weird. I guess. Hmm. Hahaha, his parents must have been, like, warrior hippies.”

Trunks choked on an unexpected laugh. “No-no, he—his father’s name was Vegeta and his father’s father and so on. Um. He was part of the ruling family, I guess.”

“No shit?” Videl asked. “Huh, interesting. So did he and Goku come here together?”

“Er….no. From what my mom says, Goku arrived here as a baby and was raised by humans. Twenty-some years later, his brother, Radditz, showed up and told him he was actually Saiyan. Then Vegeta and another Saiyan called Nappa showed up and he and Goku fought each other. “

“Wait, what happened to Radditz?”

“Oh, uh—he died, I guess. And then Vegeta—my dad—showed up a year later.”

Videl stared at him. “Huh. Wow. That’s….”

“It sounds like a tv show or something. I know. But I swear, it’s true.”

“That’s crazy, wow. So then these two saiyans—wait, what happened to Nappa?”

“He died too.”

Videl chuckled a little. “Geez, it sounds dangerous to be a saiyan around here.”

That made Trunks smile---it made him look younger. “Yeah, it is sometimes.”

“So they eventually hooked up with human women and so their blood makes you able to do this crazy stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s really unfair,” Trunks said, sighing a little. “I mean—that humans have such a harder time reaching this level. I feel bad for them.”

“Well, maybe there are other ways we can help. You don’t have any experience fighting regular people much, right?”

Trunks nodded.

“So tactics outside of _punch really hard_ or _make it explode with your brain_ are areas that you don’t have a lot of experience in. I have some—but not as much as, like, Chi-Chi probably does—“ Videl started a little, looking at Trunks. “Hey—we could ask Chi-Chi!”

“Ask her what?”

“She grew up fighting! My dad had even heard about her because she came in second during a big world martial arts tournament. She may not have the raw power but she has the experience. She could help—even if just to give guidance.”

“I don’t know….” Trunks hesitated. “Mom says they don’t like getting together much anymore—the ones who are left.”

Videl snorted. “Well, how about you invite them to stop being a bunch of bitches.”

Trunks blinked at her, eyes wide.

Videl laughed. “I’m kidding, kid. I mean—not in those words. But something similar. There are more important things than shit memories if there’s a chance we can help you. I mean—if they’ve already given up, then what good are they? We could at least ask, right?”

Trunks looked thoughtful. “I…I guess I could ask. I don’t know how many of them are left. Or if they’d come—but we could ask.”

Videl felt a little sorry for Trunks. He looked a lot younger when he was uncertain. It was hard to believe that this kid who could barely keep her gaze was the one tricking androids and somehow not dying. “We don’t have to give up, Trunks.”

He looked at her and then down at his knees. He nodded. “All right.”

They stayed outside long enough to watch the sun come up and then Videl made potato pancakes. Bulma’s eyes were puffy and tired when she emerged from her room. Videl slid over a mug of coffee. 

“Thank you, Videl,” Bulma said quietly. The genius hesitated before sitting down with Trunks at the table. “Are you….uh—how are you feeling, Trunks?”

“I’m good,” he said. He even smiled.

Bulma furrowed her eyebrows in concern. “Are you…sure?”

“Yeah,” he said gently and his expression softened. “Mom, Videl had a good idea. Instead of giving up—why don’t we ask your old friends that are still around to come visit? To see if they can give me any guidance. They have more experience—“

“None of them can help you, Trunks—“

“Not in power, no. But in knowledge, Mom. You of anyone know that that’s just as important, right?”

Bulma paused, looking at her mug. She looked up at Trunks and smiled softly. “……yeah. You know. You’re right. I’m sorry. I let things get to me. You’re right. I’ll call Chi-Chi and see if I can get Roshi on the radio. I think he’s still alive.”

 

 

 


	5. Radio Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We were once just like you. Just like these guys—only not dead, of course.” He chuckled to himself. “So we _are_ actually siblings. I think.” In the background, there was a blast of sound and something burning. Someone moaned out something before a shrieking started. “Ah—the one with the bandana just caught on fire. Well, not caught—I mean. We helped. I like the bandana though. I might take that too. Hey Jaida, you wanna see my new shirt?”
> 
> Channel five-seven-five went dead quiet.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------

“This is Bulma out of West City, broadcasting long distance DX to Plano for short wave extension to the following south-southwestern coordinates: Latitude -57.75 and Longitude: -106.17: please confirm. Coordinated Universal Time is thirteen hundred hours.”

Trunks watched the rig his mother and Videl had put together, combining their equipment after Trunks had flown to Pesto and picked it up for them. “Are we waiting for….uh—“

“AOS,” said Bulma absently. “Acquisition of signal.”

Trunks glanced at Videl, who smiled a little.

“The world is round, right. So radio waves travel in straight lines, they don’t curve like a baseball. So if you want to get a message out long-distance, you have to wait for the right time of day, as the rotation of the earth can help shorten or change the paths of radio waves,” Bulma went on. “Now that I have Videl’s equipment, I can broadcast even farther. Normally, I have to wait for a clear day if I want to broadcast to Plano—it’s three thousand miles from here. But with Videl’s extra booster, I can reach them now—providing someone is alive and still listening, they can boost us to the southwest, where Master Roshi’s island is.”

“So that’s why no one knew where he was,” Chi-Chi mumbled. “I wondered why he never showed up here.”

“He’s probably stuck there, providing he hasn’t eaten Oolong.”

The long-wave station 600, buzzed with static: “Bulma, this is Longneck! It’s been a while! Good to hear from you. I got your boost, we’ll throw your voice out thatta way. We’re moving one of the birds right now.”

“How’s my ticker sound?” Bulma asked into the handset.

“Loud and clear—we usually get some interference but you must have a clear weatherscape?”

“More equipment.”

“Nice one. How’s Trunks? Still alive?”

Bulma smiled a little. It leaked into her voice. “Somehow.”

“Kid is either the luckiest son of a bitch to walk the earth or cursed. Tell him I said hallo.”

Bulma smiled over at Trunks. Her son ducked his head a little. “Will do, Longneck.”

“All right, channel’s open loud and clear. My equipment reads one signal out there. It’s pretty faint though—I’ll leave it open for as long as the generator holds out and cross our eyes, fingers and toes that someone’s there to answer. Flip to 601, Bulma.”

“Thanks, Roger. Stay safe.” Bulma flipped the radio to station 601 and keyed in. “Roshi? Oolong? Is anyone there? Hallo!”

They waited for several minutes before Bulma repeated her call out. 

It was ten more minutes and two more call outs before there was a sudden burst of static.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I actually picked something up that wasn’t mindless panic. This is KameHouse.”

“Roshi? It’s me, Bulma!”

“Bulma! Bulma?! Pig, c’mere, it’s Bulma!”

“What!” Oolong squawked. 

Bulma inexplicably teared up. “Oolong! Hi—oh my god, it’s been…so long.”

“I—how did you even—“

“I knew your coordinates but I couldn’t boost far enough for a stable signal to Plano and then the extension. It always cut out. But I found some more equipment. I can’t believe you’re still alive. Is Puar there?”

“Yeah…he comes and goes. He’s asleep right now. Yajirobi is here too. He doesn’t like flying around in the car very much.”

“ _Yajirobi_ is there!” Bulma cried out. “No way!”

“Yeah, he only stayed fat for the first ten years,” Roshi said.

Oolong burst out laughing. In the background, Bulma heard a door open and someone called out, “What are you doin?”

“We actually got a signal that isn’t people dying. It’s Bulma.”

“No way!” 

“Yajirobi! Hallo!”

“Holy shit!”

At the table, Chi-Chi put a hand over her mouth. She looked happy but also weepy. 

“Who you got with you, Bulma?” Oolong asked eagerly.

“Well, me, Trunks—he’s seventeen now, you guys wouldn’t believe how he’s grown. There’s a young lady named Videl and Chi-Chi is here.”

“Young ladies sound good to me.”

“Roshi—she’s young enough to be your granddaughter.”

“I’ve been trapped on this island for years with a talking pig, a cat and a lazy samurai. My VHS player finally died two years ago.”

“This is the perfect opportunity to ask you guys to come here then, to West City.”

Yajirobi chuckled. “You’re kidding right? How? We have no fuel for the car.”

“Well, we were thinking Trunks could come get you.”

“You know that would leave you all unprotected,” Oolong said.

“Trunks, how long would it take you to fly four thousand miles?”

Trunks looked down at the table to do the math in his head. “Not powered up? Thirty minutes to every hundred miles. Twelve hundred minutes—divide by sixty--about a day of flying. About twenty hours.”

“Can you go that long?” Chi-Chi asked him. “If you lose strength, you’ll be who-knows-where—“

“I can do it. And if I see the cyborgs, I can outrun them.”

Bulma fretted with the handset cable. “I don’t like sending Trunks alone—but there’s no one else anymore. And we want to try and get everyone here.”

“Why there?” Roshi asked.

“Because Trunks is the only one who has the raw power but you guys are the only ones left with the experience he lacks. We can help him.”

“We’re gonna die,” Yajirobi said flatly. “What’s he going to do? Carry us?” 

“If necessary!” Trunks snapped. “Stay on the island and die if you want, but Master Roshi, as least—please let me come and get you, bring you back to West City and help me with these cyborgs. You taught Goku—the strongest man any of you knew. My mentor’s _father_. There must be _something_ you can teach me.”

“Holy shit, you fly _two hundred_ miles per hour. God _damn_ ,” Videl muttered. “How do your eyes not jump out of your skull?”

“Oh, she must be new?” Oolong said, chuckling softly.

“All right then,” Roshi grouched. “I’ll open up the bedroom so Trunks can sleep when he gets here. I’m not leaving everything though. I got things I need to bring. Does your VHS player work?”

Bulma rolled her eyes. “We have computers and DVDs, Roshi.”

“Sounds good. Get that boy down here!”

 

 

Trunks left the very next day. Bulma and Videl put together a pack for him and a map. Videl got him her portable shortwave radio.

“It’s fully charged,” Videl told him, showing him the small black box. “It’s a solar unit so if you have to stop and contact anyone, try and find somewhere with some sun to recharge it.”

“I hate sending you alone like this,” Bulma fretted, touching Trunks’ arm. 

“It’s all right. I’ll be fine, Mom,” he said. “Besides, it’ll give Videl some time to get to know you and Chi-Chi, right?”

“It’s a twenty hour flight there and twenty hours back, assuming nothing goes wrong,” Videl said. “I want to get into the air by the time you’re back.”

“I would account for more time for the flight back,” Bulma advised. “Yajirobi will do nothing but complain the whole time. And Master Roshi is, like, five thousand years ago. But don’t let him fool you. He’s pretty sharp for a lecherous old bastard.”

“Hey, at this point, it’s pretty tame compared to other things I’ve done,” Trunks smiled a little to himself and shouldered the pack. 

“I suppose so,” Bulma said softly. “Just…just be careful.”

“I will. I promise.”

Bulma hugged her son tight and then let him go. She patted his arm again before turning around and walking back into the garage. Chi-Chi was there. The woman put a comforting hand on Bulma’s shoulder. How many times had Chi-Chi watched Goku and Gohan throw themselves into danger, after all? If anyone knew how Bulma felt, it was Chi-Chi.

Trunks looked at Videl. “Thank you for your help and…I…if the cyborgs show up—“

“I’ll get them to a safe place, Trunks,” Videl told him. “I’m gonna be in the air by the time you get back—so haul ass, bro. I’m giving you three days. If you’re not back, I’m gonna come looking for you.”

“Fair enough,” Trunks said, half-smiling down at her a bit. 

Something awkward rose between them until Videl stuck out her hand. “Well. Good luck. Fly safe.”

Trunks gratefully shook it. “See you in three days.” He turned around, jumped into the air and took off.

 

 

 

“Jaida out of Martinsand, broadcasting at eighteen hundred hours. We have a white trash spill on old possum junction.”

One of the truckers on channel five-seven-five burst out laughing. “Somebody get some raiders on the highway, Jaida?”

“Yessir, I would avoid the main strip between Pesto and West City. Take around about Highway 17, pass the word along. Just got a satellite that’s still in orbit. Two bodies, ten or twelve still fighting, four vehicles wrecked all to shit.”

“Thanks for the heads up, Jaida.”

Someone else keyed in. “Jaida, was it?”

“That’s me, outta Martinsand. Who’ve I got?”

“You know, I’ve been waiting all day to find a functional semi-truck. I like driving. It’s fun. I can smash into things.”

In Martinsand, Jaida leaned back from her handset. “All right—are you one of the raiders? You’ve got no one but yourselves to blame for stealing shit when people are just trying to get by.”

“It’s so boring too, isn’t it? But no, I’m not one of the raiders. I have been watching them though. And then a semi came along and I thought it looked fun, so I took it. Now me and sis have been watching these idiots kill each other for some supplies. I think we should really just wreck the whole thing.”

There was a beat of silence on five-seven-five. 

“Why don’t you just leave them to it, pal,” Jaida said, more carefully. 

“You know, blow up the supplies and when they have no more reasons to fight, just kill the rest of them.”

The scowl in Jaida’s voice was as apparent as her helplessness. “Wow, so you’re just gonna sink to being even worse than them?”

“Worse?” the voice said, a snerking challenge in his tone. “No. No, not worse. Humans’ll kill each other for anything. I’m just saving them the trouble.”

“The fuck are you talking about, man? Humans are either assholes or not-assholes.”

There were two chuckles at that. And the sound of a semi starting. 

“This thing is huge, Jaida from Martinsand. Can you hear how loud it is? Sis, close your damn window.”

_“You blew _out_ the windows, moron.”_

“Oh yeah, I did.”

Channel five-seven-five was silent for a long beat. 

“Jaida, you still there?” said the man’s voice. “From Martinsand?”

It took a moment before she keyed in. “Yeah. I am,” she said quietly.

“Oh good, wouldn’t want you to miss it. Eighteen just started the engine, I think I’ll let her drive this time.”

_”I drive whenever I want—you should know that—with that goddamn magnet in your head.”_

“Hahaha, what!”

_”I must have the other one—it would explain why you can’t ever just do shit by yourself.”_

“You’d miss me, sis.”

_”Fuck you.”_

Seventeen kept the handset keyed in so no one else could interrupt. Jaida heard gunfire. Then startled yells and screaming. 

And then there was a _SLAM_ and static and under it—laughter. Cold laughter.

Jaida watched her handset, listening in horror.

“One’s under the wheel, sis—I think he’s still alive. Hey Jaida, wanna boost this signal out?” But Seventeen didn’t let her answer—he kept the handset keyed in. 

The man cried out, sobbing in terror. Begging, pleading, _”No, no! No! Don’t—!”_

_”Why are you so loud?”_

“That was Eighteen,” Seventeen said to his audience. “She just crushed his face. Blood everywhere. What supplies were they fighting over?”

“ _Food. Parts of something.”_ Eighteen answered in the background, sounding bored. 

A woman’s pained moan was cut short. “ _Oh, she’s my size. I like her jeans.”_

“Did we ever do this when we were human?” Seventeen asked.

_”Steal clothes from corpses or drive cars through things? Probably not. But I imagine it would explain why no one would adopt us if we did.”_

“Ugh, I meant wear clothes like this. Regular stuff. I mean, the red ribbon is a pretty cool shirt—“

_”No, it really isn’t.”_

“—but there are other shirts out there. Hell, there are shirts right here.”

Eighteen chuckled. _”That one has a nice shirt.”_

“Hey, you’re right. Here, let me—“ suddenly he keyed out. He must have released his handset to do…something. 

No one keyed in to break the silence.

In a moment, Seventeen was back: “There we go. Ugh, sticky. Is it weird that sticky things are still gross—all things considered?”

_”No. We’re still partially human.”_

“Hey Jaida—by the way—we’re still partially human. Did you know that?”

He keyed out. About ten seconds later, he keyed back in, “Jaida! Fucking answer! Did you know that we were partially human?!”

There was another beat of silence before the woman keyed in. Her voice was carefully calm and even but nearly faint. “….no, I didn’t know that.”

“We were once just like you. Just like these guys—only not dead, of course.” He chuckled to himself. “So we _are_ actually siblings. I think.” In the background, there was a blast of sound and something burning. Someone moaned out something before a shrieking started. “Ah—the one with the bandana just caught on fire. Well, not caught—I mean. We helped. I like the bandana though. I might take that too. Hey Jaida, you wanna see my new shirt?”

Channel five-seven-five went dead quiet.

“Jaida! Don’t ignore me! Do you want to see my new shirt or not!”

Seventeen heard someone key in, hesitate and then go silent again. 

_“I’m not hearing a no.”_

Seventeen grinned. “Me neither.”

Not that anyone but Eighteen could see it—but everyone listening heard it.

 

 

 

Chi-Chi sprang to the side, clocking Videl in the cheekbone with an abrupt heel of her hand. Videl staggered off balance, tried to flip around. Chi-Chi ducked, dropping low and striking hard at Videl’s gut. But the woman was throwing herself backwards, flipping around on her front. She beat the grass once in frustration and her energy _pulsed_. It flung Videl upwards to her feet. 

Chi-Chi smiled at how startled Videl looked at herself. They met eyes and Videl laughed. “Wow. I didn’t think that…I mean…”

“You hit the ground,” Chi-Chi said. “With your body, yes—but you hit the ground with your _force_. Your _focus_. That’s what this kind of energy does.”

“It’s so much faster to get up like that—but I feel…strange now. More tired than if I’d just stood normally?”

“Probably because you’re using muscle you didn’t know you had. The stronger it gets…” Chi-Chi smiled at the grin that lit up Videl’s face.

“The more I can lift. Can I practice just doing that!” She looked down at the ground, narrowing her eyes and _pulsed_ again. 

“Now you have to do it in the air!” Chi-Chi yelled. “Using your aura as a point of focus!”

Videl crashed into the ground. “Use the aura as what?” 

“A point of focus. You don’t have the ground to make you bounce back—so you make a platform of energy that can work against gravity.”

Videl stared at her, looking impressed. “How do you know all that?”

“Goku tried to explain it to me when he wanted to teach me to fly. I had to parse it out on my own.” Chi-Chi’s smile turned warm, fond. “Gohan took to it much quicker and even better after I actually explained the physics to him. He was a very smart boy. Like his mother.”

Videl smiled. “What was he like?” She asked gently. “Besides smart, of course.” She grinned.

“Gohan was…” Chi-Chi sighed. “He was all the best parts of Goku—sweet, thoughtful, brave—but smart like me. Not a bad trade-off but…it did make him _incredibly_ stubborn. When he put his mind to doing something—he did it no matter what anyone said.” 

“Trunks told me a little bit about Goku and Vegeta. It would take quite a lady to deal with guys like that.”

Chi-Chi chuckled a little and raised her voice. “Did you hear that, Bulma?”

“What!” Bulma called from the garage.

“It would take quite a lady to deal with guys like Goku and Vegeta,” Chi-Chi repeated, pulling up the patio chairs again.

Bulma laughed. “I think you got the rougher end of the deal there. Vegeta was…a. Jerk sometimes. But he was very reliable. More predictable.”

Chi-Chi laughed. “Goku was sweet but…very absentminded,” she told Videl. “It was a good thing he looked good in a suit because sometimes I came very close to throwing him out. Piccolo helped him focus a little—but only when he was around. Piccolo was probably the most stable father-figure Gohan ever had.”

“But my father knew _you_ , Chi-Chi. Right? I mean, you were the woman in the World Martial Arts tournament who famously competed as _Tokumei_ , the Anonymous, right? Number fifty-nine! That _was_ you, right?”

Chi-Chi’s entire face flushed. “I. Well, I…yes. That was me. That was a long time ago.”

“My dad watched that match. You made it through the semi-finals and then threw the fight!”

Chi-Chi shrugged a bit. “I suppose so. I was young and…silly, then. Goku shoved me out of the arena with just a punch of energy. I felt so weak afterwards—so I told this near-stranger that I loved him. I guess living on Fire Mountain with daddy always made me feel kind of trapped. I ran to Goku—who had no control over anything, least of all, me. And he didn’t require it. My father was the Ox-King and he forced me to fight. It was terrifying. I was good at it—but I hated it. I was scared a lot. But I knew that if I couldn’t defend myself, then stronger people would hurt me. Because…that was all I knew.” Chi-Chi smiled a little. “It sounds sad when I say it out loud.”

“It does,” Videl agreed. 

“I wanted things for Gohan to be different. Goku didn’t understand it very much but he tried. The Saiyans don’t seem to have a lot of parental guidance.” Chi-Chi stopped herself and looked at Videl.

“It’s okay—Trunks told me already.”

“Sorry, I just—ha. Speaking too much. Now, stop resting. We want you in the air as soon as possible.” 

The moon was high when Videl stabilized herself about five feet above the ground. 

“Nice!” Bulma said, recording Videl with her phone. 

Chi-Chi smiled up at her. “You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger, Videl.” 

“You could fly too then, right?” Videl said, reaching down.

Chi-Chi hesitated and then shrugged. “Oh, I suppose so.” She grabbed Videl’s hands and focused her own energy. Her skirt flared a bit and she lifted off the ground. “I’m out of practice. I’ll have to start working out again.”

“I wonder if I could get Vegeta’s old gravity chamber working again,” Bulma mused, watching the women hover. “It drew a huge amount of power so I never let the generators run it.”

“What about solar power?” Videl asked.

“Well, I suppose I could…work on that. It would be nice to focus on something,” Bulma said. “Rigging up enough solar panels to run the chamber for an hour or two. Trunks already pushes himself so hard. I hate to dangle a carrot in front of him like that. But I suppose you both could use it too. It would take while to charge.”

Chi-Chi stabilized herself next to Videl, crouching like she was on solid ground. “All right, Videl. Continue.”

“Wha—in the air?”

“Of course.” Chi-Chi punched her in the hip.

Videl flipped in a circle, lost control of her energy and crashed to the ground.

“Get back up here!” Chi-Chi commanded. “We’ve got a world to save.”

 

 

 

Trunks touched down on a tiny island. There was a shambling house with the words _Kame House_ painted on the side in peeling letters. A few lanterns were lit in the windows. Flying as a super saiyan cut travel time in half, so when he powered down was when Roshi slammed open the door, holding his stick.

“Boy, you are a super saiyan, aren’t you? Feel just like Goku and Gohan. Come on in—you look like your mother. Pity you’re not a girl.”

Trunks lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’d make a hot girl.”

Trunks sighed a little and followed the old man.

At the couch, another man was sitting. He stood up. He was stocky and short, with a mat of beard. “Yo. Yaijirobi. You must be Trunks.”

“Yes—uh, I know this is awkward and all—“

“I remember when he was _this_ big,” Oolong said, grinning and holding his hands close together. “Bulma was right. You really have grown. Haven’t seen you since the….well, the memorial we had. When the others died.”

“Way to make it awkward, pig,” Roshi said. “Get over here, boy. Get some sleep before we leave tomorrow.”

“Seriously. I can’t wait to get back to West City. Living on corn and whatever we can grow on this island is boring,” Yajirobi huffed, watching Roshi lead the young man to his guest room. 

“I’d rather get back as soon as we can,” Trunks said. “We can leave now—“

“No, get your rest first. You’re too impatient. West City will still be there tomorrow morning.”

Trunks looked uncertain about that but was too polite to disrespect Master Roshi. He _was_ tired. And it was kind of nice, hearing ocean waves instead of car alarms, broken things and crying.

Starlight and ocean waves. 

Just a moment. Just a moment of quiet peace. Just a….

 

 

 

A wave of dread flooded over Jaida. Actually, it had flooded the operator about thirty minutes ago. She just stared at the green glow of her equipment, trying to halt the flood of kneejerk panic so she could _think_.

“Jaida!” Someone called in on her other radio on channel eleven. “Jaida! It’s Dizon—answer! Come on! One of the truckers on five-seven-five just keyed in over the emergency channel that you might have deadheads coming your way. You need to get out of Martinsand!”

Jaida hesitated and then grabbed her handset. “It’s just me here, Dizon. It’ll be all right.”

“No, it really won’t. They’ll kill you. Call out, see if that purple-haired guy is around.”

“No. Dizon—no.”

“He’s the only one who’s been able to stand up to the androids!”

“And he still gets the shit kicked out of him each time. The poor kid doesn’t need to risk that again just for one person.”

“Jaida….” Dizon said softly. “Jaida when it was me in Koma…you put out the alert. You—“

“There are a lot of people in Koma, plus the dam. There’s no one in Martinsand except for me.”

“How do you know that? Isn’t that a big city?”

“No. It’s an old naval base.” Jaida looked at her radio and then around the small, dark room—warm from radio equipment. “It has missiles.”

“Jaida,” Dizon started. “The military tried already—they couldn’t take the Twins down. You can’t man an entire naval base, Jaida!”

“No—but I can go underground. Besides—he just wants to show me his new shirt. It’ll be fine, Dizon. I’m gonna request radio silence for the next few hours, okay? It’s been a pleasure operating with you.”

“Jaida, don’t—“

She flipped the radio off. 

 

 


	6. Martinsand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That made Trunks stop, resettle himself and then crept into the room. It was some kind of command center for the base or something. Lots of buttons and informational signs and warnings about security clearances. The equipment was dark, but some of the stations had scorch marks on them. Someone had slammed a chair into one of the windows. The door on the other side of the room had been blown off with energy. The hunk of metal was lying on the stone wall walkway. Trunks was halfway passed it when he heard a voice  
> -  
> \---------------------------

Puar had to turn himself into a large rug so that Trunks could carry Master Roshi and Oolong in it, while Yajirobi clung to his back like a leech. It was awkward with Roshi’s garbage bags full of…whatever the old man had insisted on bringing. Also a massive, talking turtle had appeared at the dining room table and Master Roshi suddenly seemed to remember that that was a person which existed. At least the turtle had spoken first. With some animal-type earthlings, it could be difficult to tell whether they were sentient or not. Especially ones like Turtle, who didn’t wear clothes. Oolong always wore clothes. Also, how come there weren’t really any non-sentient humans in the same way there were non-sentient animals? 

Well, Trunks supposed ‘sentient’ wasn’t really the right word. Maybe self-aware? But then, there were humans prone to madness or deaf or mute or blind—huh.

He’d never thought of it like that before. What if it was the same for non-aware animals? What if they were totally aware, just incapable of communicating it? What if that’s how the androids saw humans?

“Trunks! Don’t doze off!”

The boy jerked, startling himself. “What!”

“You’re flying off course. Don’t let your mind wander, boy,” Master Roshi called up to him. “He’s gonna make me spill my beer,” he told Oolong. 

“I thought you were bringing hot tea.”

“I said I was bringing my thermos. Not that it was filled with tea.”

He couldn’t fly as a super saiyan with all of them in tow and that, combined with the general bickering and complaining, meant they reached West City at noon on the third day. Bulma and Chi-Chi hurried out to meet them, exchanging hugs with Oolong and Puar and teasing Master Roshi. 

Videl swooped in, landing next to Trunks. “Ta-da! I did it, finally!”

“Oh, awesome!” Trunks smiled and lifted up into the air. “Nice work. You’ve been working with Chi-Chi, haven’t you?”

She nodded. “So, this is Master Roshi, eh?”

The old man grinned at her. “Oh yeah, who are you?”

“I’m Videl, Master Roshi. Nice to meet you.”

“You might as well just retract that now,” Bulma told her.

“What?” Videl looked between Bulma and Roshi.

But the old man just smiled. “Well, you are pretty, I’ll give you that. Not as big on top as Bulma though.”

Videl wrinkled her nose. “Wow.” She looked at Trunks. “This is the guy? This is _Master_ Roshi?”

Trunks sighed.

Videl rolled her eyes, looking disappointed as she turned away.

“Eh, give her time,” Roshi said, chuckling.

Trunks looked at his mother, lifting an eyebrow.

Bulma just shrugged, not looking bothered at all. “He’s always been this way.”

“Yeah, be like your mother, boy. You gotta get used to it. Bulma’s always been easy at being laid back. For all the time she’s probably been on her back, haha! I’ll teach you how to charm young girls right out of their—“

“If you talk about my mother like that again, I will break every bone in your body,” Trunks said, voice flat, quiet and very even.

Roshi paused. “Wow. He’s so serious—must get that from Vegeta.”

“More like Gohan,” Chi-Chi said, crossing her arms and smirking a little.

Bulma just laughed. “Yeah, can’t imagine Vegeta would threaten anyone’s life on my behalf.”

Chi-Chi started at Bulma’s honesty, looking at the scientist in surprise before glancing sidelong at Trunks.

Something in the terseness of Trunks’ expression cracked a little and he looked down. “I suppose not,” he said quietly. He turned away. “I’m gonna go get a shower.” 

Roshi watched the boy go inside. “He’s an intense one.”

Bulma glanced away and sighed. “Yeah.”

“Different from Goku and Vegeta. Boy’s got Vegeta’s killer instinct but he’s…more honest. He’s like Gohan.”

“Gohan wasn’t a natural killer. I suppose Trunks got the best of what his father’s genes had to offer but the good fortune to be raised by me,” Bulma said. 

“And to be trained by Gohan,” Chi-Chi reminded them. 

“A trainer does make a big impression,” Roshi agreed. “After all, I trained Goku, Yamcha and Krillin.”

“And they’re all dead,” Yajirobi groused.

Chi-Chi stiffened a little.

“Okay—you’re obviously tired from the flight,” Bulma cut in before Chi-Chi could respond. “How about we go inside, and we’ll have a big old sleepover. Like old times.”

“What ever happened to Launch?” Oolong asked as they headed inside.

Bulma shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. She might still be alive somewhere, so long as her split personality didn’t make her challenge the cyborgs for fun.”

“I suppose that depends if she saw Tien die,” Oolong said.

Bulma sighed. “Wow, we really _are_ depressing.”

Puar curled up on Bulma’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

 

 

He heard them drinking and reminiscing when he got out of the hot water. Sometimes being around other people was exhausting so he was glad to leave his mother to it. She seemed to come alive around her old friends. He went into the living room—draw by the light of a lantern.

Videl was sitting on the roughshod couch in shorts and a t-shirt. Her hair was damp as well. She glanced up and raised a bottle of beer. “C’mon, got one here for you, Trunks.”

He came around the couch and sat on it, leaving a cushion of space between them. “I’m only seventeen,” he reminded her, chuckling a little.

“Fuck that. You risk death constantly, you can have a beer. Big sister Videl said so.”

Trunks took one. “Thanks,” he snickered. “I’ll tell my mom I got permission.”

That made Videl laugh. “God, don’t. She’ll think I’ve done something to you.” She took a swig from the bottle.

“Oh yeah….ha….she probably would,” Trunks said, looking a little awkward. 

“Is it weird meeting your mom’s friends?”

“Yes,” Trunks said, without a trace of hesitation. “She’s told me all about them, but meeting them in person is different.”

Sort of like meeting Vegeta—

Trunks took a drink from the bottle so he wouldn’t speak.

“I guess that’s true,” Videl said, sounding thoughtful as she looked into the fireplace. It and her lantern were the only lights in the room. They made her eyes glow. “Sometimes even when you’ve known them your whole life, you don’t know who they _really_ are.”

Trunks stopped, bottle frozen on the edge of his knee. Something inside of him cracked. He tried desperately to repress it back, looking down furiously at the bottle of beer. 

“Trunks?” Videl asked gently. “Are you okay?”

The young man didn’t look up at her when he said, “I….I’ve never met my dad…I never did, I mean. Until two months ago.”

Videl blinked. “Wh-what? I thought he was _dead?_ ”

Trunks at her. “He….he is. But…I…shit.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s like this—my mom is a genius. And…and she….here. Come on. Come outside.” He got up, walking towards the garage.

“Trunks?” Videl got up, hurrying after him. “Dude, Trunks—are you okay—“

He strode through the garage to a side chamber. He punched the button to raise the bars and then pulled up the metal sliding gate. He turned on the light. “I went back in time. This is a time machine.”

“What!” Videl’s eyes went big and round. 

So Trunks explained, during which, Videl stared at him.

“Holy _shit,"_ she said. “You’re serious. Shit. So—I mean—what does this mean? You went back but—now what?”

“It takes six months for the time machine to charge. In four months, I can go to when the androids first appeared and try to figure out how to stop them.”

Videl felt something catch in her throat, fingers tightening around her beer bottle. It was overwhelming for a moment. Something like hope that cut her open for the whole world. A terrible hope, and a looming terrible despair because one can’t exist without the other. There had been so much despair that the sliver of hope was terrifying.

And all the poor kid could think about was meeting his father.

She got that. He was probably overwhelmed. She reached over to touch his elbow. “So you met your father for the first time?”

“Yes,” Trunks said roughly, looking at the clean floor of the workshop. “My mother never talked about him. No one else would either. I thought maybe he was like Gohan but he was…he wasn't. At all. Ha. I guess I just—of all the things I saw in the past, of all the things I expected to feel—disappointment wasn’t the one I thought I would feel the most.”

Videl felt something in her keen to this guy. Hardly a man and having all this dumped on him. A respectful, handsome guy like him should have been some fun-loving kid who got to enjoy his youth. She took a deep breath. “I can understand that, at least—not the time travel but the disappointment.”

“I feel like a jerk for not being able to tell my mom much about him. But it must have been why she never told me.”

“It sucks, definitely,” she said, consoling, lightly touching his shoulder. 

“I know the cyborgs are more important than anything else. I _know_ that. I just…”

“Wanted your dad to live up to your own expectations. It’s all right, Trunks. I felt the same way when I learned what a con artist my dad was. Only I was so stupid I didn’t realize it until the cyborgs killed him.”

“How old were you?” Trunks asked her, leaning against Bulma’s lab table. 

Videl stepped away from him, walking around the time machine. “I was ten. Or eleven. Ha, something like that. Would you believe, I thought my dad was amazing. I totally bought into the stories he told me and ignored all the red flags. I knew he was a liar and all—I just didn’t realize how _much_ of a liar. The signs were all there and I ignored them because he was my dad. It taught me a very valuable and hard lesson. That people will lie to your face and never flinch in order to protect themselves. Usually, we’d associate that with someone like _my_ dad—a coward. But maybe for your dad, it’s something else. Maybe it’s—“

“Channel 27, this is Yellow Jacket out of Portsmith, I’m looking at some crazy shit across the bay. Jaida? You there!”

Trunks and Videl hurried into the garage.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“I dunno,” said Yellow Jacket. "I got a short range scope across the bay from Martinsand. It’s been dark for years. All of a sudden, all the lights came on. Air raid sirens are going off. It’s going crazy. There better not be nukes under there or we’re gonna get fucked.”

“Isn’t Jaida out of Martinsand?” someone else asked.

“She’s not answering,” Dizon keyed in with his familiar twang. “She’s maintained radio silence for over two days.”

“Why?” Yellow Jacket asked.

“Androids said they were coming her way.”

“ _Oh shit_.”

“Yeah, you better get the fuck outta there—at least until it calms down. She said there were missiles under that base.”

“Is she gonna blow that goddamn base?” someone asked.

The line went silent as all the operators sat back in their lonely, dark rooms midst all the destruction of their world to contemplate.

Videl looked at Trunks. “Let me come with you.”

“No,” he said flatly and headed into the house. “Martinsand is a hundred and eighty miles north. You won’t make the flight and you won’t be able to keep up yet.” He grabbed his jacket and his sword and boots, taking them into the living room.

Videl swore softly to herself before she followed, striding passed him. “Bulma! Need some capsules with supplies in them!”

There was a scrape of chairs as the others came to watch Trunks gear up. 

“Remember—cyborgs fight really boring,” Videl said.

“Make it not-boring,” he echoed and headed outside. He gave the group a wave and took off. He was rather afraid his mother would get weepy and make a scene in front of her old friends. She was dramatic like that sometimes—not that her concern wasn’t genuine.

There was a prickle that zapped through his scalp as the Saiyan parts of him lit up, making all of him glow inside and out. He blasted off into the sky. He went double-speed until he was about ten miles away and then dropped back to regular strength, attempting to keep his power level capped. 

As Yellow Jacket had indicated, the base was still blaring. Trunks swooped down into the shadows. There were lights and sirens—but no smoke. No flames. Nothing. Just noise and light. He scanned the dark sky above the base—but it appeared to be empty. It was a clear night, the moon was bright and he couldn’t feel anyone. Civilians were usually easy to find—their terror was evident in their auras, in their presence. Trunks had learned to deaden his emotions until he found the cyborgs, since it made him harder to sense (though it seemed like they usually found him first anyway). Since he couldn’t sense the androids’ presence, he had to assume they had no emotions—despite being partially human. So the pain they caused meant, literally, nothing to them. 

Ugh, that was infuriating. 

Trunks slipped closer, running along the cliff face and hopping over the compound wall. The walls were unmanned and empty. Nothing stirred down in the parade yard below. Just bright floodlights. The shadows were thin down there so he slipped along the wall, phasing through the air. A metal door was hanging mostly off its hinges. It had been torn off. 

That made Trunks stop, resettle himself and then creep into the room. It was some kind of command center for the base or something. Lots of buttons and informational signs and warnings about security clearances. The equipment was dark, but some of the stations had scorch marks on them. Someone had slammed a chair into one of the windows. The door on the other side of the room had been blown off with energy. The hunk of metal was lying in a twisted heap on the walkway. Trunks was halfway passed it when he heard a voice. He stopped, looking around and dashed to the nearest staircase. He listened again:

_“This is Jaida out of Martinsand. And no, if you think I’m going around that way, you’re nuts. I’ll go down a level first. They never think of shit like that.”_

Trunks hurried down the stairs and stopped again. He heard the voice continue but there was still no energy. No presence. Was it a trap? Could the cyborgs imitate other voices? He took a slow breath, creeping around a corner and seeing another door, splintered in half. The room inside was empty. 

Except on a half-broken chair there was a small recording device. It was saying: _“If I had a rendezvous point, I would go to it. As it is, we’re all boned. Salt and Pepper are gonna fuck everything up and then turn on each other eventually.”_

Trunks hit _Pause_. “Hmm.” He looked around the barren room, devoid of any décor. Just metal shelves and broken chairs. So Trunks slipped through the base like a ghost until he heard Jaida’s voice again in a one-sided conversation:

 _“Yeah—so has anyone ever seen him? I wonder if he’ll ever be able to beat them.”_ And then the tone of her voice shifted a little. _“I bet he will. All, Seventeen—how about you fuck yourself. And then boom, that cocky shithead will be spare parts. And then Eighteen, how about a hole in your face—to mar your dead, beautiful eyes. Arg. I shouldn’t say that. You’re not an asshole because you’re pretty. You’re an asshole because you like to kill people. Because you both are so stupid that you can’t figure out anything better to do than destroy things because, oh no, daddy didn’t love you enough or whatever.”_

He found the second device taped to a metal workdesk.

Trunks furrowed his eyebrows. _She’s luring them?_

That made him drop his power level as low as he could concentrate on, whispering down the shadowy hallways. If the cyborgs were here and _hadn’t_ destroyed the base in annoyance—that meant they were curious—and probably amused. They delighted in sadism, after all.

The third device was playing from a stairwell. It was pitch black but Trunks didn’t dare create any light, hovering down carefully. There was a red light in the room beyond. 

_”So can you guys actually see colors? Or it is just infrared or what? Do you two remember who you were before you were changed? Or were you programmed to be dickheads or what?_

Under the red glow of the room, there was an open doorway. No—not a doorway, an elevator shaft. It was scorched. Trunks peered over the edge, seeing a mostly destroyed elevator down below. He slid down further into the dark. 

And then he heard voices.

“…so you could have a laugh?” Eighteen was saying.

“To be honest, I kinda liked it,” Seventeen said.

“That makes two of us,” said Jaida’s rough voice. It seemed stronger without the filter of the radio. 

“But now it’s game over, kiddo,” Eighteen told her. “Hope you enjoyed it.”

“A shared sentiment, but wait—there’s more,” Jaida replied.

“More?” Seventeen asked.

Eighteen rolled her eyes. “Just kill her and be done with it.”

Trunks crept up to a support pillar. It was painted red, tinting the light from a lantern. There was a woman standing next to it. Her hair was dark auburn and her eyes were amber-brown. There was a sunken look to them, made stark by the cold lantern light. She leaned back against the wall in ragged clothes. She was wearing a long coat and boots. 

“We could always just rip her arms off, sis. Watch her bleed out. That moment when the light goes out of their eyes is my favorite.”

“A good distraction, I guess,” Eighteen said and smiled. 

“Fear is also a good one—when they realize they’re totally fucked.”

The woman took out a red capsule. Trunks could see the tiny white Capsule logo on the end of it. “Well then. How about some fireworks first?” 

Eighteen was to her in a flash, pinning her against the wall by her throat. “What’s this, kiddo?” She slammed her fist into the woman’s elbow—the bone shattered, snapping apart, and the red Capsule fell to the floor.

“No worries, Eighteen,” said the woman, voice rough and breathless with pain. “I hit the trigger ages ago.” 

An alarm shrieked on around them.

Seventeen looked up and raised a palm, blasting a hole in the ceiling. “Enjoy burning to death, kid. It’s been a real—“

The lantern went out.

Or did it get suddenly brighter?

The androids never saw Trunks. Jaida never saw him either. 

Across the bay, Yellow Jacket watched the base go up in a blast of light. “Holy shit….” he said faintly into the handset.

“What happened!” Capsule-Lady out of West City demanded. “Jacket!”

“She blew the base. Holy shit. It’s—“

“I’m on my way!” 

“Shitfuck, man. Everything is _burning_.”

 

 

 

Jaida opened her eyes. This surprised her, as she certainly did not expect to still be alive. Why was she alive? She felt heavy too. Was she still in the basement? Had a wall collapsed on her? That would figure—somehow live through a missile detonation only to be pinned by a wall, where she would probably die slowly. 

There was a hand next to her on the ground. The ground? So she was outside? In the dirt. And there was a hand near her face. It wasn’t smooth and perfect like the cyborgs. It was rough and large, intersected with small scars and a lot of blood. 

She stared at it for a long moment, trying to make her dazed mind catch up. It wasn’t her own hand, right? She could still feel her left hand. Her right arm was a whole sensation of stabbing pain. It was prickling at her, muted by shock.

She suddenly heard a breath on the back of her neck. That startled her brain, made her realize that an arm was wrapped around her waist. There was another arm under her head. That arm had a bloody hand attached to it—

_Ohshitfuck--a person—what the fuck—!_

Jaida jerked into awareness and shifted. Everything screamed and she groaned, suddenly seeing the peeling, blistered flesh that covered her bloody arms. She pushed herself anyway, choking back a dry sob as her entire body howled. Her left hand latched into the dirt, pushing up and crawling out from the person’s grip. She rolled over.

It was dim outside—it must be nearly dawn. That was how she saw a young man with purple hair lying beside her. He was unconscious and absolutely covered in blood. Who was he? Where had he come from? He’d…protected her? But how? 

She didn’t remember getting out of the base. Had the cyborgs pulled her out as a joke? That made her look around—but there was nothing but smoking, scorched trees around them. The man was lying half in the water. So they must have landed or something—by the shore of the bay?

She shifted closer to him, dragging herself to him. “Hey?” she managed, voice rasping, rough. “Hey—are you alive?” She tried to move her right arm and cried out softly, switching to her left and putting her fingers under his nose. She felt a faint puff of warmth. 

His jacket was seared into his flesh and the rubber in his boots had melted into the dirt. His head had a thick trail of dark, dried blood on his scalp and down his face. She reached down carefully, hand shaking as she managed to cup a little water in her left palm, limping it up to his face and gently wiping at the blood crusted around his eyes. 

He still didn’t stir.

“Hope you’re not dead…” she managed.

Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. 

But eventually she became aware again. Someone yelling, “Trunks!”

“Oh my god,” another voice said, cracking apart. “If he was in there--!”

“Trunks!” 

_Am I still asleep?_

“Trunks—holy shit! Trunks!” 

_Maybe this is a dream?_

But then something flashed above them. Jaida shifted, as if to protect the unconscious man. But no one struck him. A woman with dark hair crashed to her knees beside the man and pulled him onto his back. “Trunks!”

Another woman appeared, with vibrant pale blue hair. She looked utterly frantic. “Trunks—oh no, no, _no_ , Trunks.”

“Damn,” said a voice as an old man appeared too. He gingerly touched the man’s head and then under his jaw. “He’s still alive, Bulma. He’s still alive.”

“Oh my god,” Bulma breathed, pulling out a capsule and hitting the trigger. She tossed it and a small tent appeared with a box of supplies. 

Another dark-haired woman ran to it, grabbing up gauze. The younger dark-haired woman—she had vibrant blue eyes. She appeared in Jaida’s vision again. “Who are you!” The woman demanded. “Are you alive!”

“Alive….m'alive…” Jaida’s head listed to look at the man. “He gonna make it?”

“For your sake, he fucking better,” snapped the young woman.

“Sorry,” Jaida rasped faintly. 

That made the woman pause. She looked at the man they called Trunks and then at Jaida. “Oolong, bring the box of medicine over—we need to get this jacket off of Trunks. And we should help her too.”

_Why do I know that name?_

“We should take them back to West City,” a pig advised them.

 _Oh hey. A pig._

“We can’t move him!” Bulma snapped.

“His back isn’t broken,” an old man said. "It'll be all right. Saiyans are made of tough stuff." 

“I’ll go get the plane,” the elder dark-haired woman said.

“My name is Videl,” said the blue-eyed woman with the dark hair. “I’m going to sedate you, okay?”

_I think I’m still out. Waste of time._

And then everything blurred together again.


	7. What Would Cyborgs Wish For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta/Bulma
> 
> \------------------
> 
> As a scientist, she would wonder how many subjects Gero must have gone through before he figured out how to turn cyborgs Seventeen and Eighteen into what they were. As a person, she blocked that out of her mind because she could guess and she didn’t want to think about all the people who would have been torn to pieces or shattered apart by the power of the energy that Gero produced. It must have been agonizingly painful for the cyborgs. No wonder they didn’t seem to remember who they’d been.
> 
> Ugh, was she feeling _sorry_ for them? She shook herself, realizing that the conversation at the table had continued without her.

Trunks remembered waking up briefly. The auburn-haired woman had still been unconscious. His back was a searing throb of numb pain. The base of the explosion had been right under his feet. He felt the heat through the floor and realized what she’d done.

Tricked the cyborgs by luring them into an active missile base.

Tricked the cyborgs by lying to their faces about explosives she’d already triggered. Fully ready to die if it meant she could do them some damage too. 

Trunks moved—phasing through the air in front of the cyborgs, grabbing the operator and blasting out of the ceiling as a super saiyan. His aura destroyed bits of the building as he flew desperately _up_. He heard yells, laughter—and then a scream. There was light rushing up behind him, a flood of heat, blasting out of the base and then bracing himself for the shockwave. The detonation seared around them and he protected them as best he could. 

Science did not give a shit about internal spiritual energy sometimes. Though, now that he thought about it, it _was_ kind of weird-- 

The blast slammed into them, something heavy and metallic hit him and they’d smashed into the surface of the bay. The secondary explosion happened while they were underwater. It turned everything around the base within five miles to burning ash. 

Trunks didn’t know that, of course—just that his skin felt like it was melting. The woman was unconscious from the impact with the water and most of her clothes had been burned away. Huh. She must be Jaida. Must have been her name—but he’d thought she’d look more like his mother. 

The water disappeared from around them. 

 

 

 

The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying face down on something soft. Something stabbed into his back, twisted like a fork in spaghetti and _ripped_ \--

Trunks jolted.

“Trunks? It’s okay. You’re with us.” 

He recognized his mother’s voice, that same desperate edge to it that she’d had when Trunks had brought Gohan back with one arm. 

He pushed himself up.

“Trunks—don’t move, buddy. You—“

“What happened?” Trunks managed, sitting up. He was still wearing his trousers—though they’d been pretty torn up. His shirt and jacket were gone. 

“Explosion cooked your jacket into your skin,” Videl said. “Now stay still—this will sting.”

“Where’s the—“ Trunks looked around. “Where’s that lady?”

“She’s here, Trunks. Still alive. We sedated her. She was barely conscious when we found you.”

“And the cyborgs?”

“We don’t know. We didn’t see them,” Bulma told him. 

“Don’t suppose we could get lucky and they could be dead?” Oolong said grumpily.

No one answered.

Bulma raised a warm, damp cloth and wiped at his face, making Trunks wrinkle his nose. “Why are you so reckless?” She asked it but her tone was wavering between a smile and tears. “You’re so reckless, Trunks. You could have died.”

“And for one person,” Master Roshi mused.

“I’m one person. Gohan was one person. Videl is one person. The cyborgs are a threat to all of us,” Trunks replied.

Bulma smiled a little. “Ha, sometimes I wish you were a little more selfish.” She stroked his hair out of his face.

He looked away from his mother. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about doing the right thing.”

Bulma looked at the bandages on his hand. _I would never be as good as him. I wouldn’t ever risk it all. I don’t deserve this kid. I’m too selfish. How did a selfish arrogant dick and a selfish arrogant bitch produce this boy._

Something in her head murmured back: _We didn’t. This world did._

“Well said, Trunks. I know Gohan would be proud to hear you say that,” Chi-Chi called back. “We’re ready to land. Hang on to something.”

Videl went to the prone form of the radio operator and knelt by her, holding her still. When the plane settled, Videl scooped her up and carried her inside. 

“So, who is that?” Roshi asked, eyeing the girl.

“I think it might be Jaida—a radio operator,” Trunks answered quietly, following Videl and his mother to one of the laboratories that Bulma kept all their medical supplies in. 

“What happened in there?” Videl asked, carefully lying her down.

Bulma took over then with pliers, removing bits of seared cloth and flesh.

“She set a trap for the cyborgs—oh yeah…” Trunks reached into his pocket but it was empty. “Did you find a couple recording devices on me?”

“Yeah, they were mostly in pieces.”

“Oh, well—she had these devices secured in different areas of the base and used them to lure the cyborgs down into the missile silo. I couldn’t sense terror from her so I had to follow the same route. When I found them—they were talking to her. Eighteen broke her arm at the elbow because she pulled out a red Capsule. And then everything exploded. I managed to grab her and fly out.”

“Huh, not bad,” Bulma allowed. “They’re probably not dead—but maybe it shook them up a little.”

 

 

 

Eighteen sighed, arms crossed as Seventeen stood up. She lifted her eyebrows at her brother.

He looked at her ragged clothes and then at his own. “Aw man. I just got this shirt.”

“You’re bleeding, bro,” Eighteen said, smirking at him a little and nodded towards his arm.

Seventeen lifted the limb. It was seared to the wrist. “Whoa. Nice.”

“Why is it that any time we do anything together, we seem to get tricked by humans?”

“Some of them aren’t boring.”

“ _I’m_ leaving,” Eighteen said. “I’m going to Mount Para—it’s still in one piece. I feel like I remember how to play Black Jack.”

“Where the hell is Mount Para?”

Eighteen opened her mouth to answer and then closed it. “You know. Good question. I’m sure you’ll find it.” She took off, zipping away from him.

Seventeen grunted. “Hey! Stupid bitch,” he muttered. “She’s such a sore loser.” He flew out of the remains of the base. Everything was incinerated outside. Humans sure were willing to die sometimes. 

He paused above the demolished base. _Humans…_ “We were human once too. I wonder if we ever wanted to die?”

_You and Lazuli. You will butcher Goku Son. You will eradicate him. You will be more powerful than anything on this planet. My hands where I cannot reach._

Seventeen started a little and shook himself. _Who the hell is Lazuli?_ “Eh. Fuck it.” He blasted off in the opposite direction of Eighteen. 

 

 

 

Bulma spread a numbing gel over the young woman’s burns. They crawled up her arms, back and over the right side of her throat. They would be molted, ugly scars—but she was alive. Bulma watched the girl until her eyes suddenly fluttered open. She started, jerking back from Bulma—eyes going wide and alert.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Bulma Briefs.”

The girl looked at her a moment. “The….Capsule-Lady?”

“Yes.”

She sat up, stifling a groan. “Where’s the guy? That guy? He saved me, I think? Did he make it?”

“Yes—his name is Trunks. He’s my son. He’s still alive.”

“Oh good,” she breathed and sunk back onto the bed. 

“Are you Jaida?”

“Yeah—the radio operator. I’m Jaida.”

“It’s strange, meeting you in person after all this time as just a voice.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how your son found me. I never intended to live. I don’t know how he did it.”

“I know—Dizon told us you were maintaining radio silence because the cyborgs said they were coming for you.”

“Yeah…I…so I mean….I’m…sorry.”

“It’s all right. Don’t worry about it. Once Trunks makes up his mind, it’s hard to turn him from it. And he’s half-Saiyan, so he’s already up and around.”

“He’s what?”

“He’s part-Saiyan. Alien race from off-planet. They were human-esque but different. His father was one of them.”

“Oh,” said Jaida, not sure how to respond. “Oh. Okay. Well. That’s. That’s cool. Good.” She looked down at her hands. They were wrapped in bandages. 

“How old are you, Jaida?”

“I’m…uh…I’m seventeen.”

“So how did you know how to blow up a missile silo?”

Jaida looked aside. “My mom was military. She was in munitions. When the androids came…I was a baby. She started teaching me. Rigging explosives—things like that.”

“Where’s your mother now?”

“Dead,” Jaida said, shrugging one shoulder. “Just like lots of peoples’ moms. We were at Eaglehound Air Base. Cyborgs blew everything up.” Bulma watched the girl’s eyes glaze over, deadening to emotion. “She was trapped under a 784 Black Falcon bomber.”

“How old were you then?”

“I was about nine, I think? It’s hard to remember. So I ran off. Few years later, I found Martinsand. I climbed the fence, disabled the security bots and made myself at home.”

“That’s pretty resourceful.”

Jaida looked away, shrugging a little. “When you don’t wanna die…I guess you can come up with all kinds of things.”

“That’s true,” Bulma chuckled. “Well, you wanna get up and walk a little?”

“Sure,” she answered, pushing herself up. Bulma helped steady her but let Jaida move her legs off the bed. The operator felt her toes touch the cold floor, slowly following with her heels. She was wearing some kind of old nightgown or nightrail. It was a thin, soft cotton, with straps instead of sleeves. The first few steps were shaky and then she let go of the bed and steadied on her own. Her arm was securely bandaged in a sling at her breast.

Bulma simply walked beside her. Like Videl, Jaida was too thin, underfed. There was also a sort of cageyness about her. She pulled away from Bulma’s touch—not in anger or fear—but like Trunks sometimes did when he had bouts of intense guilt and despair. Like Vegeta had every time Bulma touched him, until the first time he hadn’t. Like one who was unaccustomed to being touched. 

Bulma walked her to the kitchen area, where the others were sitting down to eat. The operator slowed a little, hesitating.

“These are my friends and family,” Bulma said brightly, walking ahead of the operator. “Guys—this is Jaida! The radio operator. It’s weird seeing her in person. Ha. You know, I was imagining a lady with black hair and dark eyes. What about you, Videl?”

“I was thinking light brown hair, blue eyes.” Videl looked at Trunks expectantly.

“Oh, I…uh.” He looked almost apologetically at Jaida. “I guess I associated your name with jade, the stone, so I thought you’d be….more….green. I mean—eyes and stuff,” he said, awkwardly.

Jaida stared at him and then blinked. “Oh—hey—you’re the guy!”

“What?”

“I woke up next to you!” She hobbled over to him as best she could. “You were there—when I woke up. But you were still unconscious. Are you okay?”

Master Roshi snorted into his coffee cup.

“Oh. Oh!” Trunks stammered, standing awkwardly. “I—yes. I’m okay.” His voice quieted, glancing down. “I—I’m fine. Are you…okay?”

“Yes….” Jaida said softly. “Um—how did you even….know? I mean. How did you do that?”

Roshi suddenly coughed, fanning the hot coffee in his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

“I followed your trap,” he said and smiled a little.

“Oh—“ and she suppressed a chuckle.

“What?” Trunks asked, pulling out another chair for her.

“I never heard any bells after they found me. So—in certain places in the base, I had rigged up tripwires at various heights. Some of them were just laser sensors. But some of them were wires. It didn’t hurt them, but it would set off a bell. It let me know how close they were getting because I was waiting for them in the silo. So if you didn’t trip any of them, that means they really _did_ hit all of them. And then all I can imagine is Seventeen hitting the wire in the staircase—exactly at eye-height for someone flying. And it was absolutely pitch black in there. The mental imagine of him flailing around and cursing is funny to me.”

Bulma snorted into her napkin. Videl chuckled a little. Trunks laughed and then strangled it, looking oddly sheepish but still smiling.

“It’s the little things,” Oolong told her.

“Exactly,” she replied and smiled. “You know—I haven’t seen very many animal-type earthlings in a while. There were about equal amounts of human-type and animal-type in the military. But out here, it seems different?”

Oolong blinked. “Oh—well, yeah. To be honest, for us animal-types—it’s a lot easier to disguise ourselves as just regular animals. I’m not sure the androids even notice us anyway—they kill a lot of humans. I mean, if some animal-types get caught in an attack, they’ll blow them away too—but they don’t go to any special lengths like they will for a human.”

“Really? Huh….” Jaida looked thoughtfully at the tabletop.

Bulma said, “Maybe it’s because they were programmed to kill Goku. So Goku just resembles humans more—so they kill more of the thing they associate with Goku?”

“Huh,” Trunks murmured to himself. 

Bulma watched her son think about it for a moment and then look up at Jaida. She watched his eyes examine her—at first, thoughtfully—but then physically. His eyes traveled over her face and down the nightrail, which was a close enough fit that it didn't hide the small swell of her breast—

_Trunks has never been around young women._

Oh. _Oh._ That would explain the stammering he did with Videl, and now, Jaida. Trunks had only ever been around _her_ , Bulma. His mother. He had no goddamn clue how to even _talk_ to a girl his own age. 

Well, that would explain why he was so _awkward_ sometimes with Videl. He had no clue how to speak to her. And Jaida was even closer to his own age and, like him, had grown up knowing nothing but the cyborgs. 

“Shit,” Bulma murmured softly to herself.

Videl gave her a curious glance. 

“Just realizing my failings as a mother,” she said quietly, under the table conversation, and chuckled. “You know how Trunks can be really awkward with you sometimes?”

Videl smiled. “Yeah—I noticed it. But I figured he’d never really been around women that weren’t you.”

Bulma sighed. “Yeah. I _just_ realized that.”

Videl burst out laughing. 

“Shut up,” Bulma said sourly.

“What are you two talking about?” Yajirobi asked.

“Nothing!” Bulma snapped. “And Jaida—come here and let me get you a shawl.”

“A what?” Jaida asked.

“A—thing for your…shoulders. You look cold, hon.”

“O-oh, I’m sorry. You don’t have to—I’m fine—“

Bulma hurried back with a large scarf the size of a beach towel. The scientist draped it over her shoulders, covering her up. “Here you go.”

Jaida looked at the tabletop. “I’m sorry. Thank you, ma’am.”

Conversation eventually resurfaced around them, Bulma asking Master Roshi about some of Goku’s more harmless adventures. Chi-Chi always looked content when Roshi talked about Goku in the past. 

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Jaida murmured, glancing sidelong at Trunks.

“For what?” he asked quietly.

“I never meant for you to risk your neck for one person. It was why I went Silent. If you’d died…I mean, you might be the only one with the power to somehow stop the cyborgs. If you’d died for someone like me—it would have been an honest waste.” She didn’t look sad, more frustrated. “I wish I could do what you do, of course. I wish lots of people could. But the truth is…they can’t. So far, only you can. It was an unnecessary risk….and you were hurt…”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean, thank you for my life….but….its…dangerous for you to do that. It’s dangerous for all of us to potentially lose you.”

Trunks looked at the table. “I know…but I—can’t.”

They both looked quietly at the table for a moment. “Yeah,” Jaida said finally. “I know what you mean. It’s what makes us different from _them_.”

 _Them_ being the cyborgs, which they both innately understood. 

“So, uh…do you know how to fight?” Trunks asked carefully.

“A bit,” Jaida answered. “I mean…I’ve picked some up over the years, I suppose.”

“How old are you?” Videl asked.

“Seventeen.”

Videl just sighed.

“You?” Jaida asked Trunks.

“I’m seventeen too.”

“Really?” Jaida started. “The way people always talked about you on the radio—I was sure you were older. Though I suppose most seventeen-year-olds aren’t built like flying mack trucks.”

“What’s a mack truck?”

“I think it’s a type of semi-truck.”

Trunks looked thoughtful on that for a moment. “And I guess I don’t know how I would manually detonate a missile silo.”

“So combined, we’re _almost_ a singular helpful person.” Jaida laughed. 

“Right? It’s almost like it’s on purpose.” Trunks agreed, chuckling.

“Thanks God, for not stepping in, by the way. I know its super hard being omnipotent and all.”

“Well, that went dark quick,” Oolong said. “Also, _was_ Kami omnipotent? I don’t think he was.”

Bulma paused, fingers wrapped around her glass, preparing to lift. _There’s no God because Kami is dead. Kami came here. He wasn’t born here. Does that mean he could be replaced? Would Namekians still help us if I could find them? How many guardians are there, anyway? If we could use New Namek’s dragonballs to wish back Piccolo…but what if the androids found the dragonballs….._

But then…what would cyborgs wish for, anyway? They already had control, power, anything they wanted—they could just take. What else would they need or want? 

Immortality, maybe. But as far as anyone knew—the cyborgs already _were_ immortal, due to their bio-light energy collection and a skeletal frame, grafted with what had to be pure, harnessed energy— _also, wow, Gero—nice work creating self-fueled clean bio-solar energy and immediately forcing it into a human and turning them into your weapon_ —that would produce new cells in massive quantities—to be immediately used or stored as energy for function or for combat. So, basically, humans that conducted photosynthesis at astronomical levels. 

And somehow…it didn’t tear them apart.

As a scientist, she would wonder how many subjects Gero must have gone through before he figured out how to turn cyborgs Seventeen and Eighteen into what they were. As a person, she blocked that out of her mind because she could guess and she didn’t want to think about all the people who would have been torn to pieces or shattered apart by the power of the energy that Gero produced. It must have been agonizingly painful for the cyborgs. No wonder they didn’t seem to remember who they’d been.

Ugh, was she feeling _sorry_ for them? She shook herself, realizing that the conversation at the table had continued without her. 

Master Roshi was talking about Krillin. Trunks was listening politely, likely thinking about his trip into the past again, where he would have met Krillin. But at least Trunks could finally put a voice and face with the name. 

Jaida looked a little shell-shocked when Chi-Chi put down a bowl of broth in front of her, gently patting her shoulder. The girl looked at Chi-Chi, waiting for her nod of confirmation before she clumsily picked up the spoon, seeming somehow awkward and guilty as she took a sip. And then another. And then she carefully picked up the bowl to silently drink the rest. 

Bulma saw her face pinch up like Videl’s had on her first night here. Her stomach was investigating what it found, cramping a little—and then the feeling passed. Jaida slumped a little in her chair, grabbing the shawl tighter to herself. She looked guilty and grateful when Chi-Chi silently brought her a second bowl. She drank it down so greedily that she burned her tongue—but only shuddered silently. 

“You should get some rest, Jaida,” Videl said. “Come on—there’s a room near mine that’s empty.”

Jaida looked around the table, to Bulma and Chi-Chi and waited for their nods before she stood up, trying to silently push her chair back in. Trunks grabbed it for her and pulled it to the table. She nodded to him, grateful, and then hurried to follow Videl.

“You okay?” Videl asked her as they walked.

“I just…um…I’m not used to…”

“All of them. Too many people in one room,” Videl finished, chuckling. “I was the same when I first came here—only then it was just Bulma and Trunks.” She opened a door and flipped on the lights. “I've spent so much time alone that I didn't really know what to do. Don’t worry. Bulma’s eccentric but she’s not evil or crazy. And Trunks is powerful but he’s respectful. They won’t hurt you.”

Jaida looked away a bit, seeming embarrassed.

“It’s okay. I was the same way when I first came here. Now, we’ll get this place dusted out tomorrow. For now—get some sleep.”

 

 

 

“Isn’t it hard being so pent up and angry all the time?” Bulma asked him.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “If you would shut up, woman and—“

She touched his wrist and he jerked away from her. “You should try to relax. I mean, I know this gravity chamber is cool and all—I built it. But geez, Vegeta. Get a hobby. You push yourself too hard.”

“And what would you propose I do instead?” Vegeta growled. 

“Something else. Anything else.” She saw his eyes flicker, how he glanced away. Bulma took one step forward, sliding her palm over his thigh before finding his cock. 

He jolted and then froze, staring at her in disbelief. He gritted his teeth when she started to stroke him. “Stop it, woman.”

“Or what?” Bulma asked softly. “You’ll snap me in half because it feels _good?_ Are you _scared?_ ”

His hand flashed out—and she was sure he was going to really hit her—but then his fingers touched her throat. Tight, squeezing and then relaxing his grip a little. “Don’t push me, woman.”

Bulma smiled. “What if I want to?” She stepped into him, pressing up against his side, stroking him faster. “I don’t really mind you breaking me in half—so long as it’s over a table.”

His cock twitched, stiffening.

“Or up against the wall?” She suggested. “The gravity chamber is sound-proof, after all.” She felt his other hand, large and rough, grab into her shirt.

“You should not want to be involved with me.”

“Well, that’s my choice to make, isn’t it?” 

Vegeta took one step towards her, then another, and then another as he pressed her against the wall of the gravity chamber. He scowled. “You are….”

She pressed against him fully, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to her. She could feel him against her stomach, hot and hard. The hand on her throat slipped away, curling into her hair and yanking her head to one side instead.

She jerked against his hold and pressed up so her mouth touched his. He jolted back and so she kissed his throat instead. 

She heard him growl something before he yanked on her hair again, curled his other hand into her shirt and jerking it up. His palm went underneath, finding her breast and roughly squeezing it. Her hands slid over his hips to his trousers, unbuttoning them and reaching in to touch him directly. Her touch seemed to startle him again and he suddenly grabbed her, tearing her skirt out of the way. He pinned her to the wall of the gravity chamber by her thighs, holding her up effortlessly. It was vulgar, how it spread her to him for the deepest possible penetration. Bulma’s spine arched and then the Saiyan slammed into her. 

His cock drove up hard and complete, hilting in one stroke. And then he went very still. Bulma tilted her head back, looking at him. Seeing how his eyes were searching her face for….well. For pain. He was trying to gauge how much pain she was in. 

She lifted her hands and gently touched his jaw, watching some of the angry lines in his face fade a little when she latched onto his shoulders and _squeezed_ around him. How his dark eyes flickered and he suddenly looked younger, not so jaded, not so hunted. Something he was feeling that wasn't rage--

He moved in closer, resting his forehead on the wall behind her. He was holding back as much he could—though no doubt there would be bruising. Bulma didn’t mind—didn’t even consider it when she felt him pull back and then slam into her again. It shocked a moan out of her. She clung to Vegeta’s shoulders, buried her eyes in his throat. He groaned roughly, picking up pace and strength—though never too much. He had to hold back, didn’t want to hurt her too much—

He was bigger than she expected, stroking along her walls and angling to hit her clit on every stroke. She came around him and she felt him shudder silently. Before he started again, slamming into her. He never looked at her and he kept his face turned away, pressing her into the wall and _fucking_ her, raw and hard. When he came, he was totally silent—shuddering through orgasm. Her arms embraced him, lightly kissing his shoulder. He put her back on the floor, pulling out of her gingerly. 

And then he didn’t seem to quite know what to say. 

“Don’t stay in here forever,” Bulma said, half-smiling at him. She grabbed her skirt but it was totally destroyed. “Dammit—hey, gimme your shirt.”

Vegeta blinked. “What?”

“You destroyed my clothes, you caveman. I have to walk outside. I’m not going in just my underwear.”

Vegeta shook himself a little. “Oh. Right.” He pulled off his shirt and awkwardly handed it out to her. 

She drug it on and winked before cheerfully exiting the chamber.

Vegeta stood bare-chested, a bit flummoxed but well, she _had_ practically thrown herself at him. And it had been awhile since he’d….

Vegeta turned around to tersely eye the command console. He set the gravity higher than usual. And, well…he did find it a little easier to concentrate.

He scowled to himself.

 

 

In her present, Bulma set her tools down, looking around the half-destroyed gravity chamber. She shook aside nostalgia. 

Time to get to work.


	8. The Witching Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And as my boss often tells me, ‘one should call before they knock’ even if they have paid in advance. So this is me calling, my lady. On behalf of the Irregulars, I request entry to your gates. Not to fight, but to talk.”
> 
> “Your boss?” Bulma asked.
> 
> “She is Mai—quite young but quite proficient at what she does.”
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------

“And now, my friends, make them _pay_ for every inch.”

It came on channel twenty-seven, which made everyone at the dining room table pause. 

“I think that’s a different kind of emergency,” Yajirobi said.

Roshi chuckled and Bulma snorted into her water.

Jaida started to get up and then remembered—not her radio—she hesitated, already half-risen from her chair. “I—uh…sorry.” She sat back down.

Bulma just laughed. “You can go get it if you want.”

"Then that's the wrong direction," Roshi said and hacked when Chi-Chi _slammed_ her elbow into his gut.

Jaida didn't seem to notice as she stumbled up and headed for the garage. 

“She’s really into that thing: the radio, I mean,” Chi-Chi said. “How her eyes lit up when you showed her your equipment. You’d think you’d given her something precious.”

Videl frowned, opened her mouth to reply and then…hesitated. She closed her mouth. It was difficult to explain the feeling. Without the radio, there was a void—not a physical one or an emotional one but just….a black hole of Silence. Two years ago, she’d blacked out during a snowstorm and awoke to a tree lying crossways through the house she’d been sleeping in. It had fallen during the blizzard. The only thing that interrupted the cold silence was the hum of her radio. Dragging herself from beneath debris, a shaft of wood jammed into her ribs, soaking everything she touched with blood, ice on her cheeks tearing at her skin. 

Her leg drug, pulling on her. Her body cramped, locking up around her left thigh where the muscle struggled to hold the broken bone together. Her vision went grey and then someone said:

_Pesto, this is Bookman—looks like you got a forest fire in your backyard and a sincere lack of naked rain dancers. Pesto? It’s Bookman! Wake the hell up! You’re gonna burn to death!_

The scent had hit Videl like a brick—smoke. Everything smelled like smoke. And then the world came back into color. Videl looked up and around, pushing herself up to try and see around the smashed wall. There was a sparking sound as a downed power line tasted the world and found it to its liking. 

“Oh shit,” Videl murmured. “Oh shit.”

_(“Videl?”)_

She’d struggled up, everything went numb with pain as she staggered to the broken table and pulled her handset in. “Help, I…I need…”

“Pesto!” Bookman came in again. “I’m comin! I’m coming, hang on!”

Bookman, otherwise known as Jack; he’d saved her. What had ever happened to Jack? 

Videl looked at her pipe, perched in her left hand, thoughtfully. Hmm. “This is _not_ tobacco.”

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Master Roshi, laughing.

“Videl?” Trunks said (or perhaps, repeated).

Videl looked for Trunks. His voice was at her left, looking concerned and hot and ridiculously young and ugh, goddammit. _Don’t make it weird_. “What?”

“Videl!” Trunks grabbed her shoulder and shook her. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. I….yes,” Videl managed, rubbing a hand in her hair. “Sorry. I—spaced out, I think. Ugh, right? Haha. Guess I must need coffee or something.” She got up, a little unsteady at first. She headed for the kitchen.

She grabbed a bottle of water and heard-- 

“Lance, repeat? Where are you?”

Channel twenty-seven buzzed as Videl entered the workshop, Jaida appeared to be calm. So perhaps it wasn’t the cyborgs? 

The man on Channel twenty-seven said, “Alas, not as near as I could be, Jade. You don’t need to worry about us out here, darling. Although if you did, I hope it’s a comfort at night.”

Jaida wrinkled her nose at the handset. “What the—do you _need_ help or not?”

“I need something but it isn’t help—you’re strong out of West City, yes? Titillating.”

“Tch, that’ll be the last mistake you make if you wanna show up in West City and start some shit, Lancer.”

Videl went to the main door and waved for Trunks silently.

“Not to start—I like to come with company. Capsule Corp is in West City, isn’t it? The radio talks a lot about the people there. I want to see if they’re at least as awful as me. Not everyone wants to lie down like dogs and let a few robots fuck us from behind forever without even an offer of dinner first.”

Trunks and Jaida both looked flabbergasted, not sure how to respond. Videl snorted silently into her palm. 

Bulma and Master Roshi burst out laughing. Bulma came out, waving for the handset. “Who is that? Gimme the handset.” She was still laughing when she pressed the button. “Hey, Hot Stuff, you’re on the emergency channel, talking about coming to West City. I hope you like the color of your insides because they’ll be on your outsides if you plan on coming this way and starting a bunch of shit without a reservation.”

“My lady,” the man replied, sounding wounded. “I should only like to see the insides of your eyes—what a waste to choke us off and tease us like that. 

“Then tell me what you’re selling—besides temptation of fate.”

“Tempting as that sounds, my love, I can only say we are polite, we knock on the door and we want to help.”

Videl, Chi-Chi and Bulma exchanged looks. 

“He wants to help,” Videl pondered. 

“And as my boss often tells me, ‘one should call before they knock’ even if they have paid in advance. So this is me calling, my lady. On behalf of the Irregulars, I request entry to your gates. Not to fight, but to talk.”

“Your boss?” Bulma asked.

“She is Mai—quite young but quite proficient at what she does.”

“Which is what?” Bulma asked.

“We fight. As mercenaries sometimes, yes. To make ends meet. But like any woman worth meeting, your reputation has proceeded you, Bulma Briefs. So here, we come to you.”

Bulma tittered to herself but sounded pleased when she keyed back in. “At least you know how to make an impression. If you’ve got a portable unit—use it when you’re outside of West City and we’ll come to meet you.”

“I, of course, will do it until I hear your voice.”

“I bet you will,” Roshi muttered. 

Trunks stiffened, whipping around—

“Let’s go Trunks!” Bulma interrupted, putting a hand on his back and urging him to walk with her. “We’ll get a bag together and go meet these guys.”

“Mom, are you sure about this? They could just as well be raiders too.”

“Yeah—I mean, the guy was funny but we should definitely be careful. I’ve seen this shit before,” Videl said.

“What do you mean?” Bulma asked.

“When someone uses the radio and pretends to need help or pretends to want an alliance or something, or to trade for something—well-meaning people will always answer. And sometimes the prick at the other end is….a killer or a rapist or band of roaches—who’ll steal everything you have or kill you. Or both.”

“Or worse,” Jaida added quietly, studying the tile of the floor.

Videl nodded, but kept her gaze on Bulma. “I’m just saying—we should be careful.”

Bulma looked at the three of them: Videl, Trunks and Jaida. “All right,” she said, voice calm and quiet—almost soothing. “It’s okay. I trust your judgement—all three of you.”

All three of them visibly relaxed. Kids were so intense now. She tried not to think about it, pressing on with:

“You all can come. Master Roshi, Chi-Chi, would you both come with us?”

“Is there some kind of watchtower or gate that Lancer was talking about?” Jaida asked.

“There’s an old tower—some historical bit of the city—it’s a tourist thing but it is built into a wall by the city’s entrance. With most of the tunnels and roads destroyed—most people enter on the west side—which is where the tower is.”

Jaida frowned. “I could take some equipment and set up a little watch there.”

Bulma almost laughed but Trunks said, “That’s actually a pretty good idea. I’ll take some over for you.”

Jaida shifted awkwardly. “Oh. I—all right. Okay. Thank you.”

When Trunks lifted all of the equipment like they were feathers, Jaida’s eyes bulged and her mouth fell open. 

When he lifted into the air, she gasped aloud as her eyes followed him _up_.

“Didn’t you know he could fly?” Videl asked, lifting into the air too.

 _That_ seemed to surprise her even more than Trunks. She stared at them like they were something wondrous. “Holy _shit_ ,” she managed, breathless. “You really _can_ fly. That’s so awesome!” The shock was wearing off and an unmistakable flash of misery and envy went through her face, longing so much to join them in the air that it was almost painful. And then she got a hold of herself, taking a couple deep breaths. “That’s—wow. That’s really cool. I mean, I’d heard about it, of course but just…seeing it. Well. Haha, sorry. Ha. Thank you again—Trunks. I’ll meet you there?” 

“Yeah, uh—“

“Videl, why don’t you go too,” Bulma suggested, narrowing her eyes a little. “You can scout the area with Trunks while Jaida rigs up the equipment.”

Videl lifted her eyebrows at Bulma. 

Jaida looked down, shoulders hunching. “Do you think I’m going to do something to him? I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m not _that_ stupid. You all would tear me limb from limb.”

Bulma tensed. “Well, I just…thought that…it…I mean—he’s my son.”

“Oh wow, Mom, really?” Trunks said softly, realizing and fought the heated scowl that flared up. He turned around with the equipment. “I’ll meet you at the tower, Jaida. Just ignore them. Let’s go.” 

Jaida didn’t look at any of them. She hurried from the room, grabbing her jacket and a wooden staff she’d picked up from somewhere in the city. 

“Can you ride a motorcycle?” Trunks asked, eyes focused ahead. On the horizon, not the--

“Yeah.”

Trunks led her to the second garage. “These were mostly used for dirt-biking, I heard. Less bulky and lighter than the heavy hogs.”

Her arm was still splinted but she managed, starting the bike and idling. Trunks flared a little, lifting off the ground again and flying ahead of her on the road. 

“That’s so fucking cool,” she muttered, revving the engine and zipping after him.

 

 

 

Chi-Chi sipped her water. “What ever happened to your sister?”

Roshi shrugged. “No idea. I can’t imagine she got locked out of this dimension but there’s no way for me to contact her. She’s the witch, not me.”

“I don’t suppose she went on a bender and has just been drunk for the last twenty years?” Bulma grumbled. “We could really have used her advice on a couple things.”

“She doesn’t like this galaxy as much,” Roshi said, pulling out a small pouch of hash and a long-stemmed pipe. 

“This galaxy?” Videl asked.

“Well, yeah. There’s South Galaxy too—I think we’re the….East?”

“Wait, there are _other_ galaxies with living people?” Bulma exclaimed. “Have we always known that? Why hadn't we made contact with them before the cyborgs came?”

“It's not like it comes up very much. My sister’s a witch. Magic ain’t so different from energy. S’just used differently. Too many of us focus on honing energy for fighting. She honed hers for other things. Also, Bulma, everyone's technology that isn't Capsule-grade is kind of different from you. You have nice stuff.” 

"Well, I built most of it myself."

"Exactly, Bulma."

Videl stared at him and then looked around the table. The others looked thoughtful. Not surprised or anything. Videl looked back at Master Roshi. “Your sister…is a witch?”

“Sometimes she’s more that than anything else.” Roshi offered his pouch out, letting Yajirobi and Bulma take pinches for their pipes. 

“I mean, like—magic, pointy-hat, flies on a broomstick sort of witch?”

Roshi cackled. “Only when she’s being ironic. She can fly, travel between dimensions, can find things and people, shit at divination though. We were brought up learning staff fighting.” For a moment, Roshi took off his glasses, seeming almost nostalgic. “When she turned thirteen, we noticed how she started having really intense dreams, traveling outside her body, fighting became a mess—all her magic-instincts were yelling all kinds of things at her. But none of them made sense for combat. She said it was like being in a dryer with fifteen rabid cats and all of them are screaming. So we had to search out a teacher.”

“Your parents did?” Videl asked.

Bulma glanced up, interested and exchanging a look with Oolong.

“No, we went by ourselves. They were dead by then. We traveled all over the world, fighting and trying to find a teacher for her. We eventually did. Took us three years.” Roshi looked at the table for a moment and then stretched. “Well, I suppose can’t hurt to try. We’ll do it the old fashioned way. With Trunks here, we might actually be able to reach her.” 

“Why Trunks? He fights—he doesn’t use magic—I mean, not like how she did anyway,” Chi-Chi said.

Roshi looked thoughtful again and breathed in on his pipe, letting blue smoke drift from his nose. “Boy isn’t like Vegeta. He’s not even like Gohan. Vegeta and Gohan—they were like Piccolo and Tien. Very grounded, set in their ways, stubborn. It made Gohan strong but he didn’t like fighting. There was no thrill in it for him. He could never embrace it like Goku. It held him back.”

“You all exposed him to violence, hatred and death from the time he was four,” Chi-Chi said, hackles rising.

“I think about that sometimes,” Roshi said. “Lord knows none of us listened to you back then. We did what we wanted and left you to clean up the mess in the boy’s head.”

Bulma looked guiltily at her pipe. 

Videl felt something lance through her—like a spear to the chest—her heart hurt. She swallowed hard and looked down at the table. This man she would never know—and the inherent tragedy of never feeling good enough for anyone or anything and yet be forced to choose between the lives of others and his personal freedom and desires. And he chose others, setting aside what he wanted for himself because no one had ever asked him what _he_ wanted. No one had ever _cared_ about what he wanted. And then it hadn’t mattered because he was the only person on the planet who could take a beating from the androids and still have a chance of getting up afterwards. He was the only one who had had _any_ concept at all of what Trunks was going through.

“Videl? You okay?” Bulma asked, lowering her pipe.

Videl swallowed again, trying to get control of herself. “I….” She looked at Chi-Chi, staring at the woman. “It sounds…very lonely,” she managed and got up from her chair. “I…” And then she looked at Bulma. “I will do what I can to make sure nothing happens to Trunks.” And then she turned on her heel and walked out, heading for the garage to get a motorcycle.

Chi-Chi glanced at Bulma and then looked down, suddenly feeling a bit weepy again. She swallowed it away. 

“Trunks is more like Goku,” Roshi said quietly. “Inventive, quick and he fights with his gut, with his emotions. It can make him incredibly powerful—or it will cripple him. You break Trunks’ spirit and he might give up. He’s grown up being constantly ground down. Being nothing. Being a distraction, pain in the ass but nothing to take seriously. Being broken. Now, he feels like he’s got something to prove. But it’s exhausting being the last hope for everyone around you. Goku had lots of people to help him, gods did him favors, luck ran with him in a way I've never seen in any other fighter. Trunks hasn’t had anyone.” Roshi looked away a bit. “We told him he was the only one who could fight now—and then left him to do it on his own. Because we were all too busy thinking of ourselves. An’ if we’d just stopped moping and come together—maybe remembered that Goku would have forced us to come together and fight back…but we didn’t think Trunks would be anything either, did we? We assumed he’d die. We gave up. And because we gave up….now the last hope for all of us could give up too. But while we’d blame the androids, he would blame himself.”

Bulma pressed her napkin to her mouth for a moment. “We fucked up.”

Chi-Chi took a breath. “Well. Good thing Videl showed up when she did.”

“Have you been watching him?” Bulma asked softly. 

Roshi shrugged. “Said you wanted me to train him. So I’ve been watching him.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d do it after he threatened you.”

Roshi laughed. “How many times have I been threatened since you’ve known me, Bulma? Too many goddamn times to count. Besides, it’s a good way to test the character of people around you. I said something about _you_ \--and that was why he threatened me. That tells me a lot of things about him.” Roshi took a deep pull on his pipe. “You did the best you could, Bulma. He’s a good boy. Goku was good too. He’s got Vegeta’s killer instinct and Goku’s compassion.”

“Do you think he could really kill the androids one day?” Oolong asked.

“He will. We’ve already failed. But there are others who haven’t.”

Bulma stiffened, looking sidelong at Roshi, peering at him. 

He raised his bushy eyebrows. “What? You think I didn’t take a look around. How about you tell everyone about that machine—I think it’s about time we all know just what the hell you’ve been working on that Trunks is so tight-lipped about.”

“How did you know?” Bulma scowled at him.

“Know what?” asked Chi-Chi, looking suspiciously at both of them.

Roshi waved a hand to Bulma. “I don’t know what the hell it is—but I can’t imagine you’ve been sitting idle for twenty years. What kind of machine is it?”

Bulma sighed and straightened. “The only reason I didn’t tell everyone was because we weren’t even sure if it would work. We didn’t want to give any false hope.”

Chi-Chi took a stilted breath. “Hope of _what?"_

Bulma wet her lips. “All right, guys. So. I. Built a time machine.”

Yajirobi laughed.

"What is even going on anymore?" Oolong sighed. 

“I’m serious. Trunks…Trunks piloted the machine. He went twenty years into the past.”

Chi-Chi stared at her, open-mouthed. “That’s when…that’s when Goku came back from space.”

“Yes. Trunks met him. Trunks met…some of _us_. But…in the past.”

“Holy shit,” Oolong said softly.

“That means he met Vegeta,” Puar said, cringing a little from his perch on Bulma’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Bulma said softly, glancing aside. “It takes the time machine six months to charge. So in three months or so we can go into the past again—to their future—and see if we can learn something that will help Trunks beat them here.”

“He met Goku when he was healthy….” Chi-Chi said faintly, cupping her nose and mouth with her palm. “When Freeza came back.”

“He said he panicked a little when Freeza showed up and Goku didn’t appear right away like he did for us. So that’s something different right there,” Bulma said. “I was hoping he would wait and speak to Goku alone. But I….I think that was kind of unfair of me. I’ve told him stories about all of them since he was a baby. Sometimes I forget that behind that serious face….he’s still a teenager. I imagine Goku sensed him and waited to see what he would do before he stepped in. Trunks was afraid he wouldn’t show—but he said Goku had learned some technique out in space. He told him he learned it on Yardrat—it let him dematerialize and travel as a beam of light.” 

“He never said anything about that,” Chi-Chi said, thinking swiftly.

“Maybe he didn’t learn it in this timeline. Or maybe…he didn’t think it would be used again. We thought we were in peacetimes. Things would be all right. Freeza was such an incredible threat—nothing could be beyond that, right? Goku was a super saiyan. He was damn-near indestructible. And then he got sick and died. By the time the cyborgs showed up—the only ones who’d kept up with training were Vegeta and Piccolo. And they were butchered like the others.” Bulma looked down at the table top. She remembered that day very clearly. All the blood. All the soot and dirt and blood all over Vegeta when she found his body in the middle of West City. He’d fought to the last. His eyes had been burned out, his armor was in tatters and his chest was gaping open like a maw. She’d called out to him just as his chest shuddered blood up into his mouth and nose and—

“No wonder he’s been so down and distant,” Chi-Chi said. “I thought he seemed different but I wasn’t sure why.”

“So you’re saying, though,” Yajirobi ventured, “that there’s a chance.”

Bulma nodded. “It’s…slim. But yes.”

Chi-Chi’s eyes hardened. “We failed Trunks once, let’s not do it again. Roshi—I have a compass and an old star board that belonged to my dad. There’s a cemetery where we can get grave dirt. There’s enough of us here with energy control that can donate a few drops of blood. Let’s try to reach Baba.”

So they did. Roshi and Chi-Chi got the grave dirt and Bulma cleared the table and brought Chi-Chi’s star wheel. It was a beautiful thing. It was octagonal and made of polished ash wood. A bronze astrolabe was set into the top. Its circles moved when the long crossbar was turned by a knob in the middle of the wheel. Bulma did not know a lot about such objects. As she couldn’t use magic herself—she had no clear comprehension of how exactly it worked. It had previously decorated the mantle of Chi-Chi’s fire place. Bulma had always thought it was some weird thing from Fire Mountain and never thought much of it. But Chi-Chi seemed to know her way around it, when she and Roshi returned with the grave dirt. 

Chi-Chi turned the board over carefully, where another dial was inset. “This is the Nocturlabe—tells where the stars are. It can help you figure out your location at night. Daddy told me that you used the Night side with grave dirt if you’re looking for someone across dimensions.”

“How did he know about it?” Bulma asked.

“He said my mother knew about them. She brought the Wheel with her when she lived with him at Fire Mountain.”

“So could we find Launch with this?” Oolong asked.

Chi-Chi shrugged. “I don’t know. He said that you needed to have something important to the person or, better, a blood relative. Or…well, someone like Tien—who knew her better than any of us.”

“All right, thumbs out—Chi-Chi, Yajirobi—“

“What! I never agreed to give my blood—“

“So help me, Yajirobi, I will string you up by your goddamn fingernails,” Chi-Chi snapped.

Yajirobi scowled and offered his hand out.

Roshi cut them and they all decorated the dirt with blood. When they returned—Roshi had Videl and Trunks donate some blood as well. They charged it with their energy. Trunks’ crackled a little. 

Jaida stayed near the doorway, watching curiously. Trunks leaned against the wall just to the left of it, watching Roshi take over then. “Trunks, come up to the table, boy. I’m gonna need that spirit of yours.”

Trunks furrowed his eyebrows but obeyed. “Spirit?”

“Something you and Goku have in common, boy. Gohan and Vegeta fought with their heads, Goku fought with his heart. Like you do.”

Trunks stiffened, looking somehow embarrassed and uncertain. But he just stared down at the grave dirt and put his hands above it to allow Roshi to draw energy from him.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Roshi told the rest of them. “I’m gonna just think of Baba real hard. Not too hard. But hard. Think of what she looks like—if any of you have ever met her. If you need a reminder, she looks like a boiled potato.”

“Don't let her hear you say that,” Chi-Chi warned, placing a compass down on the crossbar of the Nocturlabe.

Jaida stood back by Videl, watching. “Who’s Baba?” She muttered.

Videl shrugged.

For a few moments, everything was quiet. Roshi kept creaking around the table as he shifted positions, sweating as he focused his energy, drawing in spirit energy from Trunks. The compass rattled. It hopped a little on the crossbar and then the needle began to spin. Faster and faster, like greased lightning.

Master Roshi sent out a _pulse_.

Trunks made a strangled, choked sound, grabbing into his chest.

“Baba, wherever you are. Need you back on Earth.” He pulsed again.

Trunks gritted his teeth, breaking out in a sweat. His face went grey when he felt something _touch_ back, examining his energy and hooking into it. It felt like his lungs were sticking together. He shuddered through a breath, bracing his hands on the table as Roshi turned the wheel of the Nocturlabe. It spread the grave dirt to every line on the wheel. The compass needle was still frantically spinning. The blood peppering the dirt turned blue. 

And then went dark.

Trunks wheezed a little, latching onto the table’s edge. Videl started forward, grabbing onto his jacket to steady him. 

“Trunks?”

“I’m okay. I felt something though.” He looked at Master Roshi. “I’m not sure what.”

“With any luck—it was her reaching back. We won’t know unless she shows up.”

“That’s all we can do for now then, I suppose,” Oolong said. He sighed. “I’m going to bed.”

Jaida stayed standing at the wall, watching Videl look over Trunks and listen to his breathing. He slowly started to look less grey. Videl looked fierce, protective. It was…nice, really. It had been a long time since she’d seen other people being…well…..people being good to each other. Or something. She wasn’t sure how to word it in her head. She flailed a little, stumbling out of the way when Oolong and Turtle headed for the doorway. She leaned against the wall silently, watching them pass. The pig looked bored, the turtle smiled and nodded to her in greeting. Yajirobi came through next—some kind of barrel-chested wild-man, but he had a katana. He was also rather short—like dwarves from storybooks. (At least, the one that Bandit had read for almost two weeks straight—it was a book about an evil ring and the quest to destroy it.) Just different from slender, shapely Bulma and lean, broad-shouldered Trunks.

“Hey,” the bearded man said, waving a hand to her. “Roshi’s got hash if you want some.”

“Only if she has her own pipe!” Roshi yelled from the kitchen.

“You’re so stingy,” Bulma laughed at him. “Trunks, how did the tower go?”

Her son sat down as the others filed out, except Videl. “Jaida was teaching me how to set up the equipment—then Videl showed up. We did a scout of the area.” They’d also talked about Gohan but Trunks didn’t mention that. “By the time we got back, Jaida had it up and running.”

Jaida avoided their eyes when Bulma, Videl, Roshi and Trunks all looked at her. “I wired it into the city’s remaining broadcast lines and set it on an inbetween channel. So from our radio here—we can always hear what’s going on at the city gate. It’s keyed in between channel 875 and 876 so it’ll be harder to detect if the cyborgs can…I dunno—hear our broadcasting? ”

Bulma raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like we need to break into West City’s power plant and have you play with some of the wires _there_ too. We could get control of the tornado sirens around the city. It might help warn people of things.”

“If we clamped it into a splitter, we could rig it up with motion detectors. That might burn out the wires though. I mean—depending on how much power it would take to actually _run_ flood lights, sirens and motion detectors.”

“Your mom teach you about radios?” Bulma asked her.

“She taught me some,” Jaida said, looking under the fringe of her hair at Bulma. “The rest, I read about at Martinsand.”

Bulma smiled at her. “Sounds like you might be able to help me with a few things—if you were going to stay, I mean?”

Jaida stiffened a little. “Oh, I…well…honestly, I….thought I would leave before I overstayed your hospitality. I looked at some of the abandoned houses by the gate. I could just stay there. That way I’d always be near the equipment.”

“I like having lots of people around again,” Bulma said, smiling. “And I’m sorry about earlier. I was thinking of what I was like at your age. But things are really different now. So you’re welcome to stay with us. Or if you want—stay out in the city—but you’d always welcome here, Jaida.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jaida said softly. “I’ll stay out in the city for now but I want to help if I can.”

“Sounds good. We’ll get you some capsules with some supplies to get you started.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” When she looked up again, she saw that Trunks was smiling in an encouraging sort of way. She couldn’t seem to help but smile back a little and then looked down again, feeling weird (and shy?) and exposed.

“All right—it’s been a long day. Let’s go to be—“

“Boo.”

Everyone jerked back as there was a flash of light and puff of dust. The furniture slammed into the walls. A small old woman was perched on a sphere, floating in the middle of the room. “You rang?”

“Dammit Baba, can’t you just appear and not wreck everything!” Roshi grouched.

“The last sixty years of your life called, they want their dignity back.”

Bulma burst out laughing.

“So you poked me in the head in South Galaxy—it better be important. What do you want?”

Roshi took off his sunglasses again. “You’ve been gone a long time. We got a lot to tell you.”

"Then get me a beer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	9. Old Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hey!_ Baba’s voice slammed into his head. _Get up here to the gate. We got company._
> 
> “Holy shit.” Trunks shook himself. No one had ever spoken in his head before. That was _weird_. It made his teeth feel metallic. He shot up into the air, his glow lighting up the dark of the night and blasted off towards the gate.  
>  \---------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaida looked out into the sunset. The house near the gate was one of the vintage ones—not domed on top. It had a balcony that overlooked the old farmer’s market square. It was devastation as far as she could see. But there was something solemn and pretty about it too. Sort of like shattered glass. 

She saw her breath in the glossy orange light. That’s right. It was October something-or-other. Winter would come. Winters were hard and very dark. She glanced out towards the city center—where the domes of Capsule Corp were glowing warm. One of the large satellites pivoted. It cast a curved shadow over the next block’s neighborhood in beams of orange light, making the dust glitter through the air. 

She breathed it in. 

“Jaida?”

She stiffened, jerking up from the balcony railing and whirling around. Trunks was floating at eye-level next to the bars. “Trunks—geez. You snuck up on me.”

“Sorry,” he said and smiled a little. “I—uh—my mom said you’d probably need your arm cleaned and rebound. She’s working on something with….solar plates and stuff. So. I brought the bandages.”

“Did you bring your chaperone?”

Trunks hopped onto the railing with her, sighing. “I am so sorry about that.”

She chuckled. “It’s okay. She wants to protect you. Girls are extremely dangerous. I would know.”

“Yes, definitely,” Trunks chuckled, walking inside the building with her. The balcony led into a bare room. They went downstairs together, where she had set up a makeshift radio rig in the kitchen. It radiated warmth throughout the room. 

“I’m not much of a cook—I’m better with electronics. But I have some cans of soup and stuff if you’re hungry.” 

“I’m okay. Let me help you,” he said, stepping forward to unfasten the strap of the sling for her arm. She unzipped her jacket (still mostly new from the house next door) and shrugged her shoulder to work it off. Trunks grabbed onto the sleeve to help her, gently sliding it down her right arm. She had a tank top on under it. Trunks helped her unbind her arm. It was still heavily black and purple, puffy and stitched around her elbow where Bulma had sewn her back together. Pain spiked through her when Trunks brushed against it and she swallowed hard, going mute with the hurt.

Trunks didn’t pause. He got to work. There was nothing they could do about the pain, she had to endure it. So he worked quickly, to get it over with. Her eyes glazed over, unfocusing completely as her face went ash-grey. She broke out in a cold sweat. Trunks popped a capsule his mother had given him after he cleaned and then snugly bandaged the limb. He felt her shaking. He pulled a can of foam casting from the box. Trunks moved quickly, shaking it up and spraying it over the wrappings. The liquid foamed up about half an inch and then hardened into a cast. He cupped her arm in his hands, supporting the limb until the casting dried out. “There we go,” he said and looked at her face.

Trunks blinked at her expression. Her eyes had darkened and she took a quick breath, looking away. Trunks glanced away too. He pulled his hands away from her awkwardly. “Sometimes it’s just…there are so many people there now. I guess it’s kinda nice out here. It’s quiet.”

“Yeah—not used to all the people. Though—it’s pretty at night. The lights, I mean.” She breathed slow and steady.

Trunks turned around to look back at Capsule Corp. “Huh….yeah, it is.” He picked up her jacket and helped her slide it back on and then zipped it for her. 

“Thank you,” she said, quietly, chuckling at herself. “I’m about useless at zippers and buttons right now.”

“Oh,” Trunks said, picking up the sling. “Oh shit. I did that wrong.”

“Oh,” Jaida echoed. “It's okay, I'm--the pain, you know--my head is spinning, you know how it is--well, actually, you probably do. You poor bastard.”

Something beeped in Trunks’ pocket. He tore his eyes away from her strange expression and pulled out his phone. “Ah—it’s my mom—she wants us to come meet Baba now that she’s all settled in.”

“Oh, okay—I’ll go get the motorcycle—“

“Come on,” Trunks said and opened his arm to her.

Jaida blinked at him. “You…I mean…it—“

“Flying is faster,” he said, rather reasonably.

“Oh. Okay.” Jaida stepped into him. The top of her head didn’t even clear his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted into the air. She grabbed onto his shirt with her left hand and then he zipped out the window, over the balcony and above the city. 

“Oh wow,” Jaida breathed, clinging to Trunks as she stared above the city. “Wow, this is amazing.”

When they landed in the front of the compound, she let go reluctantly. “You’ve gotta teach me how to do that.”

Trunks chuckled a little. “We’ll work on it when your arm heals.”

She smiled up at him, amber eyes glowing in the dimming light of evening. And then she startled herself, feeling a bit embarrassed as Bulma opened the door. 

“C’mon guys!” Bulma called out.

“Right,” Jaida said quickly and started inside. Trunks followed her.

“No,” someone was saying, sounding annoyed. “East galaxy? No, you idiot—haven’t you _spoken_ to King Kai directly? He’s the _North_ Kai. This is North Galaxy.” Baba placed her hat on the table, glancing over as they entered. “You’re the one with the broken arm? Take off your jacket, girl.”

Jaida blinked. “Uh—what?”

“Take it off, so I can fix it.”

Jaida glanced up at Trunks and when he nodded, she unzipped her jacket and Trunks stepped forward to help her get it off again. “Trunks just rebound it.”

“Who cares—you want it functional, or what?” Baba snorted, zipping right up to the radio operator. She grabbed into the cast and it broke apart. Then she grabbed into the limb. Baba heard the girl strangle a sound. She even felt Trunks tense up beside the human. Baba flickered her magic and watched the limb twist, straighten and then the swelling went down, the bruises disappeared. All that remained were the scars from where her bone had speared her flesh. Then the old lady grabbed her shoulder, where the burns crawled up at her throat and down her side. They turned older, healed over and only white and red scarring remained. “There,” Baba said, sounding bored. “So Roshi has told me all the stupid things that have happened since I’ve been gone. See, this is why I don’t like this galaxy. Stupid shit like this. Also, time travel is apparently a thing now.”

Baba lifted up to Trunks face and grabbed onto his hair (this time she felt the human bristle). She stared into his blue eyes. Stared _into_ him, feeling his emotions, feeling conflict and surprise and anger and Freeza and Goku and meeting his _father_. “Oh, you met Vegeta. I’m sorry.” Baba released him, buzzing around the room. 

Trunks looked away. 

“So, this is what we’re gonna do,” said Baba. “I’m getting too old for this shit. You two,” she said, pointing at Chi-Chi and Videl. “You two are fighters—are you getting that back on again, Chi-Chi?”

Gohan’s mother nodded, arms crossed at the old woman. 

“One of you should learn magic, so someone is around that can pass this stupid stuff on when these guys fuck up.”

“I was brought up to fight,” Videl said earnestly. “I’m getting better. I want to help Trunks.”

“You can—but in a different way—“

“No. I have to help him.”

Baba rolled her eyes and looked at Jaida. “You then. You’re weak—but you have an agile mind. You have the energy for it—can this one be trusted?” Baba glanced at Roshi.

The old man smirked a little. “She can.”

Jaida looked at him, confused.

“We’ll start tomorrow. You’re staying out at some dump in the city, right? I’ll meet you in the street in the morning and we’ll begin.”

“But I—I’ve never—“

“So says everyone before they start something that will change their lives.”

Jaida stared at her.

“Don’t worry—you can fly with _magic_ too.” Baba turned around. “In the meantime, we should fortify the city. Show me this time machine of yours, Bulma. You have single-handedly changed the course of this world’s future. Do you understand what a target that could make you?”

Bulma snorted. “Better than doing nothing.”

“And _that_ is what separates you from my idiot brother and his idiot friends.”

“Wait, can you find Launch?” Puar asked.

“What? Who?” Baba said.

“She had problems with a split personality. Whenever she sneezed, it would reset her or something,” Bulma said.

“Tien’s girl?” Baba surmised. 

“Well, never out loud or in any words at all,” Bulma said, smiling a little.

“I dunno—I’ll try later. We need to get situated first.” Baba turned around to Trunks. “You are the only one who remains with the power to defeat these cyborgs. So you are now our primary focus of interest, boy. You will train with me in the afternoon tomorrow. We’ll go through some paces. I can create illusions that you might find more interesting to fight against. Providing Jaida’s mind hasn’t melted—she’ll come too.”

“I have to keep an ear on the radio—“

“Some things are more important than the damn radio, girl.”

Videl was starting to look annoyed. Chi-Chi grabbed her arm and shook her head before she could say anything to the old witch.

“And you,” Baba said, pointing at Videl. “If you want to actually be able to fight well-enough to be useful, you should come too. Chi-Chi, do you think you have the energy to go with them?”

Chi-Chi sighed. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Trunks glanced at Chi-Chi. “That’s ominous.”

Baba chuckled. “Oh, my young man, and you’ve never even _met_ Mister Popo.”

“Do you think he’s still up on the Lookout?” Bulma asked.

“I dunno. Roshi, haven’t you been there before?”

“No.”

Baba raised her eyebrows at Roshi severely. “So you really never did _anything_ yourself, did you? Just rode on Goku’s wrist bands?”

“Says the bitch who left for twenty years.”

“Good thing I did—else you’d have no purpose now, would you?”

Bulma looked pleased as punch as the brother and sister continued to bicker. 

 

 

 

Trunks took Jaida home afterwards, setting her down gently on the balcony. He watched her flex her arm, testing her fingers. “So Baba wants you to learn about magic. I didn’t expect that.”

“Me neither. She must be desperate,” Jaida chuckled. “I’ve never had any kind of training for using energy, let alone like that.”

“I feel like tomorrow is going to be really long.”

She laughed, heading downstairs with him so she could put her kettle over the fireplace. Trunks brought her in a couple of logs and she poured them tea. “If you ever get tired of all the people—you’re welcome to come hang out here. Even if I’m not here. It's not like I own the place.”

Trunks smiled a little. “I appreciate that. I never realized how much being here alone bothered my mom. I guess I never thought about it. It’s always just been us.”

“Same,” Jaida said, sitting down on a rickety kitchen chair she’d moved near the fireplace. “It was always just me. So it’s weird being around so many people.”

Trunks sat across from her with his mug. Apparently, the previous owner had once visited East City. “I feel like you’re getting pulled into this because of me. If you don’t want to stay—I understand. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

She looked up at him. He watched her search his face and then she said, “You saved me and the base is gone. I have nowhere to be. Home is wherever I can build a radio.” She gestured to the rig in the kitchen. “Hopefully, I can help. I mean, how could I just walk away now? I’ve met a witch, learned that time travel is a thing that’s real, flew over the city—wow, that was awesome—and your mom has the biggest radio setup I’ve ever seen. And I had a pretty nice setup in Martinsand but the one here is ten _times_ better.”

Something about her enthusiasm made him smile. 

“Also,” she went on. “I was sure that if I actually met you, I’d end up being disappointed. Like, you’d end up being an arrogant jerk or something. But you’re not. Which is cool.” She looked down, nodding to herself. She tugged her fingers through her coarse hair, covering up her ears. 

Trunks didn’t really need the tipoff of her burning ears—he could see her aura and how saying that made her embarrassed suddenly. “I….glad I didn’t disappoint,” he said, awkwardly. “I mean—“ he huffed, “—uh, so—what do you like to fight with?”

She still couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “I never really learned from anyone—but I have a staff. I’ve always just used those—because they’re low-maintenance and versatile.”

“I can teach you some—if you want,” he offered. “I mean—for me it’s mostly been hand-to-hand but I learned a little about staff fighting too.”

“What about Videl?” She glanced up at him from under her hair.

“Oh—Videl?" Somehow, Videl wasn't what he had expected her to ask about. "Oh, oh, uh—I mean—we’re all gonna be training together now, from the sounds of things. I just thought—if you wanted any extra.”

“Oh, right. Ha. Okay. Yeah, sure. Ha, just wanted to make sure—Videl is…really, um, fierce. She’s protective of you.”

“She’s a bit older than me, I guess. She found us—she came asking if I could teach her to fly. And then she stayed. Maybe she feels like she owes me one or something. She reminds me of my old mentor—Gohan.”

Jaida looked down. “I’ve heard of Gohan—they talked about him a lot on the radio. There was a lot of tears and anger when he was murdered.”

“Yeah,” Trunks said softly.

“And you… _saw_ him in the past? As a child?”

“I did,” Trunks said, looking down at his knees.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “That must have been really hard.”

Trunks swallowed a little. “I…yeah. Well—I better get back before my mom goes crazy.” He stood up, not meeting her gaze. 

“Okay,” she said quickly. “See you tomorrow.”

He turned away, jogging up the stairs and flying out the window. Trunks flew out to the port and sat on the pier so he could watch the tide come in. 

 

 

 

Thusly, he did not hear it when Jaida came in on Channel twenty-seven to say a large group appeared to be approaching the city. He was listening to the waves, the surf and the wind. His chin braced on his knee, trying to figure out how he felt about everything and everyone around him. 

It was hard sometimes because the only thing they saw was a pretender. They looked for all their old friends in him but couldn’t find any of them. Videl was a good medium point on the scale of differences between himself and his mother.

Or maybe himself and his father?

He snorted to himself. “Shouldn’t insult Videl like that.” He did a slight double-take when a small bird landed on the pier’s post. It hopped down onto his knee. Trunks froze, staring at the little creature in the moonlight. It stood on his knee, staring back at him. Trunks tilted his head and watched the bird fidget, relaxing when the bird didn’t immediately fly off. 

But then Trunks felt a flare of distress. He jerked. The bird shot away and Trunks scrambled up. He searched the surrounding dock, felt another and another, tension, some anger, some fear, something sad and suffocating and—

 _Hey!_ Baba’s voice slammed into his head. _Get up here to the gate. We got company._

“Holy shit.” Trunks shook himself. No one had ever spoken in his head before. That was _weird_. It made his teeth feel metallic. He shot up into the air, his glow lighting up the dark of the night and blasted off towards the gate.

Trunks arrived just as Videl did, zipping down from the rooftops and jerking to a stop above the concrete. Trunks lingered overhead, flicking out some balls of energy to light the lamps by the gates. Ahead of them, Jaida was standing with her wooden pole, a crossbow strapped to her back, as a large group approached. 

They were very quiet but the shuffle of feet grew louder and louder. No one sang or shouted or talked. They just walked in silence. But the scrape of many boots on broken concrete built up like raindrops in a bowl. Also, they carried torches with them.

“How many are there?” Videl demanded.

“Don’t know. They haven’t called in yet. I assume this is Lancer’s group?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about them,” Trunks muttered. He lifted back up into the air as Baba came zipping by him. 

“We don’t want to attract much attention, so keep your super saiyan on hold,” she said and then buzzed down to Jaida. “Bulma and the others are coming.”

The boundary wall of the city was crumbling concrete but it still stood about forty feet high in most places. The gates themselves were two pillars, jutting up like mountain peaks. They stood about twenty feet apart. Trunks flew above the boundary wall and peered over the edge. It was a small hoard of humans, it seemed. A few animals-types were here and there, but mostly human-types. There were, at least, a hundred. At the very front there was a small group walking in a semi-circle around a woman with dark hair. Trunks dropped to the earth and went to Videl. “Looks to be about a hundred.”

“Jaida, how good are you with that staff?” Videl asked, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows. 

“Decent—but they may not be here to fight.”

“Yeah, they _could_ be legit here for…alliance or whatever—but we don’t know that.”

“I know,” Jaida said gently. “I just—wanted to remind us.”

The hoard stopped several hundred feet back from the gates. The small group Trunks had seen emerged. The woman was young and pretty, dark-haired and shadowy eyes. She was wearing a long coat and boots. She carried a shotgun and had a rifle strapped to her back. His mother may have been the tech genius but even he could tell these guns had been modified. They were brimming with…energy. 

“Jaida, step out of the way,” Trunks said. He gestured to the side wall, out of sight. She looked at him and then nodded, pulling off her crossbow.

Videl looked over at him. “What’s wrong with her guns? They’re all…. _weird_.”

“I dunno. It’s almost like they’re….infused with energy. Or something. They feel alive.”

“That is _so_ weird.”

Chi-Chi, Bulma and Master Roshi all came around the corner in a car. Bulma kept the headlights on, letting the car idle as she stepped out. It lit up the entire area, illuminating the woman and the four people around her. Trunks absently touched the grip of his sword. 

About fifteen feet from the gate, she stopped. “My name is Mai,” she called out. “I believe you had contact previous with my friend, Lancer.” She gestured to her right, where a man in a cowboy hat gave them a wave. “I’m looking for Bulma Briefs.”

“Why?” Trunks walked out between the two groups. 

Mai looked him in the eye. It was not the cold stare he’d expected. It was calm and quiet and careful. She examined him. “You are Trunks, yes? Captain Capsule Corp?”

Trunks bristled a little.

“It was not an insult, I apologize. The more I travel, the more I learn that humor does not always translate. I am sorry. I meant that because of your efforts, you are known to the entire underground. But no one knew where you were until recently. No one seems to know anything about you. They make up all kinds of things and spin wild stories from Wintersmith to Eaglehound. I’m glad to finally meet you, Trunks.” She inclined her head to him. 

“Why are you looking for my mother?” Trunks asked again, expression stony. 

“Bulma Briefs has the largest radio setup in five thousand miles. Long distance communication is otherwise cut off. We need a way to protect ourselves from aerial attack by the Twins. The most logical way to do this is with some kind of barrier or field of energy. But no one has enough power on hand. Except for Capsule Corp.”

Bulma came forward to stand beside Trunks as Mai and her little group approached. She saw Jaida from the corner of her eye, crossbow loaded and looking down a shaft as Mai entered the gates. “So you brought a horde of people to come in—how do we know you won’t just overrun the city?”

“My people will stay outside the city for now. They can make camp and we’ll protect the road for anyone going in or out of West City. All we ask is that they be allowed underground if the Twins show up. We have children with us.”

Bulma hesitated and looked at the others, settling on Baba.

The old woman fluttered up to Mai as Master Roshi got closer, examining her guns. Baba abruptly grabbed into Mai’s hair. The woman raised a hand to stop the four people with her from acting. “I know you,” Baba said, eyes narrowing. “How are you here? Where were you before the cyborgs came?”

“What do you mean? I was born around the same time the dragonballs turned to stone.”

Trunks and Bulma tensed and glanced at each other. 

"Dragonballs?" Jaida muttered.

“What are dragonballs?” Videl asked Master Roshi.

“Long story,” the old man muttered. “We’ll explain later.”

Baba watched her for another moment and then flew back over to Bulma. “She is telling the truth. They mean no harm.”

Bulma nodded. “All right then. Bring the children and non-fighters here. They can live around Capsule Corp. The neighborhoods are mostly abandoned. But the fighters stay outside for now. They can enter if the Twins show up. And we’ll know if they do—so no funny business.”

“Then we’ll camp outside tonight and begin the process tomorrow.” Mai stuck out her hand.

Trunks shook it, watching her closely. She only stared back quietly. When she turned away, she caught sight of Jaida. She watched the other woman until they exited out of sight.

“You said you knew her?” Bulma asked, watching the group walk away. 

“Well, I never met her personally. But I know of her. Or at least…who she was. She seems to have very little memory of that. She was the one who tried using the dragonballs—but then Piccolo died. I heard they wished for youth—and it turned her into an infant. She was basically reborn.”

“Oh my god—Pilaf’s crew!” Bulma cried out. “It _is_ her. Mai! Holy shit!”

 

 

 

The next day was busy.


	10. Work Smarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Trunks/Jaida
> 
> \---------------------------------------------
> 
> “You saw how they jumped though,” Jaida mused, shielding her eyes from the wind. “Almost like maybe…they _did_ remember.”
> 
> “Careful,” Baba said dryly. “You start empathizing with them and you leave yourself open to getting blown up.”
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------

Eighteen looked at the painting of the owner. Mister Para was an older man. So fake-tanned that he was nearly orange. He had thin, wispy blond hair and a piggy little face. And small hands. 

“First hint to a total prick. A painting bigger than he is. Ugh.” She blew up the painting. Her dress, red satin with clusters of diamonds around the plunging neckline, fluttered in the backdraft. 

Mount Para was a casino. Or, it had been.

“So this is what the remaining rich people do with their time. Looks like it’d be better to just get rid of them.” She sauntered down the hallway as smoke filtered into the first floor. Someone was crying. Sobbing. Terror and pain and—

_You will butcher him. You will kill him. You will kill those with him. His friends will try to protect him. But they will stand no chance against you—_

Eighteen paused in the hallway. Sometimes her memories of the Doc were a little too close for comfort. Having memories of him made her want to burn things. More than one man had looked at her with desire, with greed, and thought they could take her by force—

She’d been a little girl, after all, when the Doc had found them—

_Let me go! Let go! I’ll kill you! Leave him alone! Lapis!_

Eighteen scanned the hallway, trying to place that distant memory. She jerked away. Too much time to waste chasing old memories. She was who she was now. Who the fuck was Lapis anyway?

Someone shot her. She felt the sensory ping and turned around, grabbing the bullet mid-air. Her blue eyes pierced the room. The casino hallways were scorched, bloodstained, decorated with viscera from broken bodies and armed guards. A woman’s diamond necklace clutched around Eighteen’s throat, the cold stones felt nice on her skin. Where everything else felt bad. Even the dress was getting uncomfortable, stiff with blood. She’d felt pretty at first.

But then, the blood sort of ruined it. 

She’d like to think it enhanced it. Made it better. Made it more carnal, more brutal, more _red_. But, it didn’t. She just felt…empty. 

Weird.

Immediate distractions were necessary when she started thinking like that. So she opened a hole in the floor and blew up the swimming pool. 

She found Seventeen before she felt him. He was sitting on the roof, looking up. “What are you doing here?” She wanted to know, floating up to him as the other wing of the casino burned.

“Figured you were busy,” Seventeen said. “Heard rich people screaming, so I stayed out here. It’s kind of nice, you know.”

Eighteen blinked at him. “What is?”

“The…” Seventeen waved a hand. “The…night. I guess? The stars are pretty.”

“Are you okay?” Eighteen asked him, smirking a little.

“Huh, oh yeah. I’m fine. But I figure you needed this one—so I didn’t take any of your kills.”

Eighteen touched down on the roof and sauntered over to her brother. She sat down beside him, letting her glittery red heels dangle over the edge. “Seventeen, do you ever….remember anything?”

He paused, looking down at his knees. His hair was tied back in a tail to keep it out of the way. He was wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans and an old military jacket. “From before? You mean?”

“…yeah.”

“Sometimes,” he said, with an idle shrug. “Sometimes I remember other people too. Which is weird because I don’t remember anyone else being there—except for the Doc’s other experiments.”

“I wonder what happened to them,” Eighteen mused.

“Maybe we should go back there sometime.”

Eighteen raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Fuck off.” Seventeen chuckled. “You think the kid is on his way?”

“Probably. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”

“What was his name again?”

“Trunks,” Eighteen said, rolling her eyes. “Stupid name. Though I guess I can’t really talk. We’re numbers.”

“I wonder what our names were before?”

Eighteen looked sidelong at Seventeen. “What does it matter? You’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. You should let it go.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Seventeen agreed softly, looking back over the night sky and the mountains.

Something blasted to a stop near the entrance.

“Oh hey, there he is,” Seventeen mused, pointing at the ground where Trunks was hurrying for the entrance. 

“Who the hell is that?” Eighteen asked as another person landed. “Haven’t seen anyone else fly in a long time.”

“Oh, you think Trunks found a friend?”

“It’s hard to imagine him having friends.”

“Well, that’s mostly because we killed everyone he might have been friends with.”

“Well. Why stop now?” Eighteen stood up and hopped off the edge, floating down to the entrance to land in front of the other person.

Seventeen sighed a little, started to get up…and then didn’t. He looked out over the mountain again. 

“Hi,” Eighteen said. “Who are you?”

It was a dark-haired woman. She went grey and then seemed to rally herself. “Videl.”

“Friend of Gohan’s little pet?”

Videl scowled at her. “Eat a dick.”

That made Eighteen smile. “Now that’s a nice change of pace. I’m so used to leaving Trunks a pile of broken limbs, meeting someone with some actual guts is funny. I mean, it sucks—because you stand no chance—but it is funny.”

The human slapped her hands together. “Let’s get started then, eh?”

Eighteen smirked. “Eager to die? How sad.” She blasted off, glittery heels flashing and she slammed into the woman. The human went flying, flipping herself around to skid to a stop in the dirt. “Are you just the distraction until Trunks figures out if anyone survived?”

The cyborg felt the human’s anger, irritation, frustration as it built up. “That’s a nice shirt—I like that shirt. What size are you?”

“Fuck you,” the human snapped.

“We’re twin-sized,” said a voice behind her.

Eighteen whirled around and jerked to a stop. There was a tiny little blond girl standing behind her. She had big blue eyes. She smiled at her. “Me and Lapis—we’re the same size. Because we’re twins.”

“What the hell….” Eighteen muttered, outstretching her hand at the child.

“You okay?” Seventeen called down.

“Of course, duh,” Eighteen snapped, looking back at the child. “Where’d you come from?”

The child smiled at her, big and pretty. “I don’t know. Where did _you_ come from?”

Eighteen scowled and blasted the child to pieces. 

Or. Thought she did. But the child remained. She’d simply switched spots to Eighteen’s left. 

Trunks burst out of the second story, a blast of bellowing fire followed him. Seventeen went down next to his sister as Trunks paused beside Videl. “Who are you blasting at, sis?”

“The stupid kid!”

“What kid?”

“That kid!” Eighteen snapped, pointing at the tiny blond girl.

Seventeen raised his eyebrows at her. He didn’t see a kid. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’re talking about experiments. Experimenting. On us. He’s going to _hurt_ us.”

Seventeen and Eighteen both jumped a little, looking to Seventeen’s side, where a tiny black-haired boy had appeared. 

“Holy shit!” Seventeen started, jerking back. 

Eighteen outstretched her hand and blasted at Videl and Trunks, engulfing them in white-hot light. Yet, when the glare faded, they were gone. As if they’d never been there at all. The children were gone too.

“What the hell was that?” Seventeen asked faintly, looking a little unsteady. 

“I dunno,” Eighteen replied, looking around the expansive lawns of the casino. “Were they illusions? Since when can Trunks cast illusions?”

 

 

 

Three miles away, Trunks flashed to a stop, holding Videl to him. He shuddered out a breath. “I can’t believe that _worked!”_

Baba winked. “Work smarter, not harder, boy. Let’s go.”

“Damn,” Jaida said softly. 

“Did you feel how I did that?” Baba wanted to know, lifting into the air and buzzing over the trees. Videl and Trunks followed. The Saiyan was holding the radio operator. She was clinging to him—still not accustomed to being in the air. Also because he was Trunks and she seemed to be developing a crush on him. No big surprise there. He’d gotten good looks from Bulma’s side. All that silent rage and suppressed aggression were Vegeta through and through, though. 

Jaida nodded. “I saw it—like you said.”

“I guided you to their minds. Did you watch while I looked in?”

“You could only see flashes—not full memories,” Jaida responded dutifully. “You saw them as children. Something they know but…didn’t….actively remember?”

“Until now,” Baba defined. “And now we’ve given them something to think about. Sometimes, that’s all you need. When one is distracted, it’s easier to fight.”

“Cyborgs fight boring,” Videl said, flying next to Trunks.

“Make it not-boring,” Baba agreed. 

“You saw how they jumped though,” Jaida mused, shielding her eyes from the wind. “Almost like maybe…they _did_ remember.”

“Careful,” Baba said dryly. “You start empathizing with them and you leave yourself open to getting blown up.”

Jaida looked back over Trunks’ shoulder, watching the casino burn as they sped back to West City.

 

 

It felt good to win. It felt so _goddamn_ good to win. It was heady and wonderful. Trunks and Videl could hardly contain themselves as they gushed over the scene with Chi-Chi and Bulma and Master Roshi and the others. Baba looked quite pleased with herself. Everyone drank too much, too fast, too eager for one small piece of good news. They had made it to a scene, checked for survivors and, finding none—but being discovered by the androids—no one died and/or Trunks was not left a bloody pulp.

It was weird that….maybe he wouldn’t have to be in as much pain. That made something flex through him, like a wave of ice, a band of iron making everything in his gut seize as if to immediately prepare for the intense _pain_ that he knew was coming but would ultimately, and literally, make him stronger. But it was awfully bad for his moral to have to take so many beatings all the time because there was no one else. 

It was dangerously close to hope (and also, imminent death).

It made him restless and fidgety and he couldn’t relax and he had to get up and he was pacing. Bulma left him to it—this was Vegeta-behavior. Trunks was musing or distracted and she wouldn’t be able to talk him through it—he was too solemn and weirdly shy and private. (In that other weird, small way that he was like Vegeta.) He would pace and grumble and stare holes into the floor and then he wouldn’t be able to take it and he’d either speak up—

And here, Trunks paused.

—or he would go off to do whatever he was so focused on.

And he slipped out the back door. 

Bulma leaned over to the kitchen window and watched him fly away. “And, there he goes.” She smiled gently. “My poor shy boy. Please don’t do anything stupid—well, you’re a teenager so that’s a guarantee but…just don’t die.” Bulma looked down at the kitchen counter and rubbed her eyes as she poured herself a gin and tonic. 

 

 

 

Trunks paused mid-air, seeing Jaida pulling on her jacket on the ground. The sun was setting and one of Mai’s people had taken to lighting the lanterns at night. It turned her messy braid gold. He dropped down. “Hey—you leaving?”

Jaida started a little. “Oh, Trunks! I was just coming to ask you something! Stop reading my mind.”

“What was it?”

“I’ve got homework from Baba—step inside with me for a minute?” She asked, taking off her gloves. “I mean—if you’re not going somewhere. It’s not a big thing. It can wait.”

“Oh, no—it’s fine,” Trunks said quickly, shrugging a little. “I was just. Yeah. No, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” she breathed, seeming relieved as they entered the house. She started lighting candles and Trunks lit the fireplace with a touch of energy. “Okay, so—Baba gave me some homework and....well, she wants to come up with things we can use on the cyborgs. Things that they’ll know. So. Baba wanted me to, uh….” And here, Jaida hesitated, something in her carefully curious expression breaking apart and showing some anxiety. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to say what came out of her mouth: “…she wanted me to ask you about…Gohan….” And she seemed to compress inward, watching him closely.

Trunks blinked. “O-oh…I….okay,” he said, faintly. “Um…uh—I mean—Chi-Chi would be a better—“

“She wanted me to ask _you_ because you’re the only one who’s fought alongside him,” Jaida said quietly. “And…she wants me to become familiar with what he looks like so…she…wants me to…look inside your head….um. So I can _see_ him.”

Trunks shuddered a little and took a deep breath. “Oh. Wow. That’s…that’s pretty crazy.”

“Yeah,” Jaida said awkwardly. “And I didn’t know how to ask—so I figured I better just bite the bullet and be straightforward about it.” She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s all right. I get it,” Trunks said quietly. “No matter anyone’s baggage, we all have to…do what we can to…survive.”

“If you don’t want to Trunks, I—“

Trunks took a deep breath. “In a few months, I’ll go back into the past and who knows what will happen. I might have to be around Gohan a lot. It might be good for me to…deal with it now, I guess. So that I don’t just blurt out that I got him killed—”

“Trunks!” Jaida said sharply. “You _know_ that’s not true!” She glared at him, as if daring him to disagree.

Trunks looked away. 

“Trunks!” Jaida sat up, leaning into his space. “Hey! It feels better to place blame because then it feels like there’s a reason and so you can exert some control over it—but the truth is that to the cyborgs, we’re _all_ the same nothing. We’re all _nothing_. It’s not your fault you were born when you were. You can’t control that you were younger or that Gohan was only partially-trained or that your father died or that you have this part of yourself that you don’t really understand and no one’s left that really _knows_ like he did. Maybe you feel like if you blamed yourself, it would be your punishment and so then maybe the cyborgs wouldn’t take your mother too.”

Trunks stiffened. 

Jaida took a deep breath and reached out, gently touching his elbow. “But the truth is,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “is that the world doesn’t care about us. No one does. All we have is…each other.” She shrugged a little, glancing away. “So we have to make this life worth it.”

Trunks’ eyes went everywhere but to her, trying to figure out that cycle of terror-relief-hope and where this fit in. He saw her eyes dilate—like people did right before they fought. When they got intense in combat—like all the blood rushing to your head—

But it was different too, suddenly feeling her cold fingertips on his arm. She was nervous—her aura was flickering and roiling. The dimming sun cast flickering green shadows through the stained glass window that sat above the couch like a throne. The feeling was strange, wanted to do things he couldn’t put into words, just feelings. Wanted to feel….something. 

He heard a shuddering breath and then an answer before he grabbed into the back of her neck, cupping her hair. He felt her fingernails bite into his shoulders. Felt her shift right into him, grip tightening, making a soft sound. Despite having one fist coiled in her hair, he was very light when he touched her side. It was still warm from her jacket. Placing his palm down made her take a deep breath against his mouth, shifting half onto her side and bringing a knee up to herself. He took the invitation—wasn’t even sure when it registered—but he shifted her closer, palm sliding over her hip. It guided her right into his lap, straddling his thigh and he could feel the hot crook of her through her jeans and his own. He drug his other hand through her hair as he kissed her again, fought her for control of it and pushed his palm down over her breast. He felt her shudder, saw how her aura shifted from nervous fear to something warm but intense and faintly overwhelming. And all those things he felt in her, he also felt himself and he was drowning in how _much_ he could feel through their auras. It was exactly like fighting and yet, completely different.

He palmed her breast, feeling her nipple harden, how it made something pool and flow like liquid hot metal through her. How she arched into him, wrapping an arm around his neck, curling her fingers into his hair and kissed him hard, grinding her hips down into him.

He helped, fingers tight enough on her skin that he had to pull back a moment and refocus. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he managed, making his hands uncurl from her hips, fingers rough and shaking.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” she answered quietly, soothingly. She stroked his hair gently, brought his attention back down with a kiss and shifted against him. He took a stilted breath and she continued, bracing herself on him, grinding into him, chasing that rush of feeling with him—

She choked back any sound, biting down on it. Trunks felt her aura spike, feeding into his own and he grabbed her hips again. She let him take control, pushing, grinding and—

Trunks managed to let go of her, clenching his hands into tight fists. She shook a little against him, holding onto him for a moment before leaning up to check his expression. Trunks studied her in return. She looked exhausted. And relieved. And exhausted. 

He pulled her into him, hands sliding up her spine, one traveling onward to stroke through her hair. She slid down next to him, curling up to him and she just…held onto him. Like she could anchor both of them if he wanted to. He could let her. That was something he had control over.

He pulled her in closer. Her aura had settled into something warm and accepting and strange and comforting and weird and very, very solid. Like a rock wall. For the moment, nothing else existed to her but feeling the comfort and warmth of another person’s touch. Like a moment of respite, a breath in the dark, Trunks let his guard down a bit. She may not have been able to see auras—but her body sensed the shift in him when he relaxed a bit. She touched his hair, becoming soothing—

And then he breathed deep and let his mind become quiet. Soothing and quiet.


	11. Gohan Did the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” Gohan said quietly. “I wish I’d have thought of it when I was a kid. But—I was a kid. And none of us really…were friendly with Vegeta. Um. I mean—he was…kind of….he was really intense. Hard to get to know. And he’d been forced to serve the guy who blew up his planet and killed everyone, including his father, for almost his whole life. So he was very slow to trust anyone. Which was why it was kind of amazing how your mom won him over.”  
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The world was strangely quiet. All he could hear was his breathing, ragged and faint.

A face blurred in front of him, Gohan grabbed him up. He was saying something but Trunks couldn’t seem to understand; he was barely a toddler. But he could hear the tone, the voice, the warmth he associated with the sounds that Gohan made as he just held him to his blood-soaked, charred and torn shirt as he sprinted down the hallway. Something exploded, roaring and shrieking followed and then Gohan raised one hand, blowing out a window and fleeing into the night. He could hear Gohan sobbing.

The world went quiet again. Just ragged breathing.

Once again, a face blurred in front of him, over him—but this time he could comprehend the words—

“Trunks!” Videl landed next to him, grabbed his jacket and blasted around the corner of a dilapidated building. Videl laid him down, protecting his head. “Trunks? You still with me? Trunks—you gotta wake up, okay. We gotta find Baba and Chi-Chi and get outta here.”

Trunks gazed up at her and then suddenly, she came into sharp focus, because someone had appeared behind her. He grabbed Videl, flipping them over so he could protect her.

Eighteen’s spidery grip was like a vice on the back of his head. He froze, hands flying up.

“Surrendering already?” Eighteen murmured in his ear. Her voice was husky and low, almost sensual.

It sent a curl of revulsion through him. “Let _her_ go.” Trunks said, meeting Eighteen’s cold blue eyes as she circled around them and feeling Videl’s aura burst with anger and anxiety.

“Oh, and you’ll stay?” Eighteen simpered, brushing her knuckles over his cheek.

Trunks could feel her smugness, because she knew he was afraid for someone now.

Seventeen landed beside them, crossing his arms. “Tell you what, kiddo, I’ll give her a three minute head start.”

Trunks glanced down at Videl. His gaze was heavy, stern and cold. This would help at least one of them survive. She glanced away, hating herself. 

“I mean, unless it takes Eighteen less than that to kill you.”

“It will,” Eighteen promised and winked.

Trunks felt his fear fade into the background, replaced by searing rage. Cold, dark rage. “Videl,” he said softly. “Go. Now.” He stood up and sent out a rippling _pulse_ , becoming a super saiyan in a flash of gold light. 

“Trunks—“

“Go!” He commanded. A tremor rocked through him, shaking the ground as he sunk into the cold rage. He felt Videl curse and whip around, zipping off like a dart. 

“Time’s a-wasting Trunks, and I have some questions.” Eighteen slammed into him like a goddamn train. 

He spun around, phasing behind her, to the side, across the road and then into a dilapidated building. She was on him immediately and they slammed into each other. She took him through the concrete wall and shook him. “What was that? That thing you showed us at the casino? What the _fuck_ were they?”

Trunks blinked at her, somehow not expecting the question. “What?” He tried to think. “What things?”

“The supposedly ‘younger’ us, dipshit,” Seventeen said dryly. 

Trunks had a kneejerk response of _Fuck off_ ready to go but then he paused. Chi-Chi and Master Roshi had discussed, at length, the art of reading auras. Now that Chi-Chi was training again, hers was like a waking forge. She looked more alive than he’d ever seen her. The change was rather extraordinary. She was showing him and Videl the minute flickers and changes in auras.

And what he noticed now was also different. The twins were staring at him, angry and hard. They seemed forcibly colder than usual but an undercurrent of tension ran through them. It was like a blue flare from them. Something he’d seen before in—

 

 

“Gohan, um—who’s Mister Piccolo?” Trunks was ten, gangly and awkward but already strong. He was definitely stronger than Gohan himself had been at ten, running from cyborgs and trying to protect Bulma and Trunks as she sprinted down the street, holding her baby to her and--

He shook himself. Gohan was twenty, scarred up and always worrying. Chi-Chi was always worrying about him but they didn’t seem to talk much to each other anymore. He half-smiled a little. “What do you mean? A namekian warrior, former enemy-turned-friend of my dad?”

“You just…” Trunks shifted on his feet, not meeting his eyes. “You talk about him more than any of the others. I mean…not that you talk about them a lot or anything. I mean, you don’t. You really don’t—I mean, not that I—“

“Trunks—it’s okay, man. Don’t worry. I know I don’t talk about them very much. I know you wish I did sometimes because it seems like that’s all Bulma and I can do. But you’ll never know them and I don’t want you to think that…you’re not good enough.”

Trunks cringed a little, shoulders hunching. “I’ll do it—I’ll become a super saiyan soon—and then I’ll be able to help you.”

Gohan nodded and gestured to the space next to him on the piece of hill he was currently holding. It overlooked the city. “Piccolo taught me almost everything I know. The techniques that I learned…aren’t ones that my father actually ever used. I learned the Solar Flare from Krillin but Masenko—that was Piccolo’s. My father’s signature technique was the Kamehameha Wave, of course.” Gohan looked over the water. “But I never really learned it.” Something in Gohan’s expression clouded over.

Trunks peered up at him, watching him flicker through a few expressions before settling on something almost blank. “It’s my own fault, though,” Gohan muttered. “I was studying. I was…I never really liked fighting as much—not like my dad did. We never thought we’d find something worse than Freeza—and on our own planet. I never would have expected that. But none of us did—and Vegeta and Piccolo were the only ones who kept training even after my dad died.”

Trunks hesitated a moment and then said, “Did my dad like fighting too?”

Gohan paused and chuckled a little. He sighed a deep sigh, blowing some ragged strands of hair from his face. “You know…when I was ten, I would have said yes. He loved fighting. But now that I’m older, I…guess I don’t really know. Vegeta never seemed to get a thrill out of combat itself—he just wanted to be stronger. It was what gave him meaning. He didn’t know anything else. I guess he didn’t…” Gohan struggled with words for a moment. “My dad loved fighting and he fought with his heart, with his gut. It came naturally to him. But Vegeta….it just…wasn’t the same for him. He didn’t seem to actually enjoy it so much as he wanted to….be able to defend himself from anyone who came at him.”

Trunks looked at his knees. “….that sounds sad.”

“Yeah,” Gohan said quietly. “I wish I’d have thought of it when I was a kid. But—I was a kid. And none of us really…were friendly with Vegeta. Um. I mean—he was…kind of….he was really intense. Hard to get to know. And he’d been forced to serve the guy who blew up his planet and killed everyone, including his father, for almost his whole life. So he was very slow to trust anyone. Which was why it was kind of amazing how your mom won him over.”

“Is it _that_ impressive?” Trunks asked, smiling a little. 

Gohan laughed. “Yes. Nobody expected it. When Bulma showed up and told us she was pregnant with you and that you were Vegeta’s child—I remember my dad—he burst out laughing but he was genuinely happy for Vegeta. I mean, in a weird sort of way. Because no one was really able to get through to him like…Bulma somehow must have. But Vegeta never spoke of it and would not discuss it with anyone. And then when he died….well….” Gohan glanced away. “Look, I didn’t always like Vegeta. Sometimes he could be a real shithead. But…he saved my life on Namek when he didn’t have to. He could have let me die. And maybe he was just showing off because he could be…well. Vegeta about it. But he did it, regardless.”

Trunks watched Gohan’s eyes flicker again, something dark and hard and maybe even conflicted—

 

 

 

The eyes were the wrong color. They were blue, like his own. Looking at him like they were haunted by something.

_Haunted by something._

Like Gohan was haunted by memories of his dead friends, or memories of Trunks’ father that made him look conflicted. Trying to decide how to describe a man who had hated his father, who had beaten him up more than once….but had also saved his life on several occasions. And after Goku died, Gohan had seen Vegeta more often, weirdly enough. Though the prince had rarely spoke to him. Until he’d become a super saiyan and then Vegeta had shown up at Capsule Corp, demanding to see Piccolo and the runt. (“Which was me,” Gohan had said, chuckling.)

Like Trunks was haunted by flashing, pale blue eyes and the screams of the dying and stench of countless bodies, piled up in blood-splattered ice cream shops and parks and boardwalks. And no one was left to clear them away—they were scattered in chunks of gore and pieces of bone and meat all over and it all pressed down into him. And he was always running from the Twins and could never be certain what they were—

Trunks blinked. Oh. _Oh_. That’s why he was suddenly struck by their expressions. They mirrored his own. They were suddenly uncertain about him. They thought _he_ had created the illusions. 

“Maybe they were real,” he said to them. “We didn’t see anything.”

“Don’t fuck with me, kid,” Eighteen snapped. “I’ll break you in half. Now, the truth. What the fuck _was_ that?”

“I’d say I suppose it was you before you were cyborgs.”

Eighteen hissed and she slammed her fist into his face, again and again and again. Until he _pushed_ , throwing himself away from her and whirling around to dash across the street, into a small residential area. 

Pesto was still empty. He, Videl, Chi-Chi and Baba had come out here to do some combat training. Videl and Trunks versus Baba and Chi-Chi. His superior strength and Videl’s speed—she was becoming a real speed demon—versus Chi-Chi and Baba’s combined experience meant that he and Videl were actually having a much harder time than either of them had anticipated.

But then the blasts had come raining down and he wasn’t sure where Chi-Chi and Baba were now—no doubt they were hiding their energy so the cyborgs wouldn’t detect them right away. Hopefully, Videl would find them and go back to West City to hide. 

“I’ll find you, you little shit!” Eighteen roared out, incinerating two or three houses.

“Sis, we don’t need to kill him,” Seventeen chuckled.

“Says you!” Eighteen whirled around, catching sight of purple hair flashing by a window. “That little fuck.” She blasted the entire wall apart, smashing into the alleyway and flying after him. Trunks disappeared around a corner, into a dark alley. She followed him instantly. “Don’t hide now, Trunks! I thought you were going to kill us for murdering Gohan! Remember that! Remember how we teamed up on him in the rain and we finally killed that son of a bitch. He was so _weak_. It was _pathetic_. How he _begged_ at the end—“

“Did I?” 

Eighteen whirled around, finding herself face-to-face with him. With Gohan. He stood in front of her with one arm and an abundance of scars, night-dark hair and stony eyes. “You’re fucking dead. I _know_ you’re not real.”

“Are you sure, Eighteen? Maybe something _is_ wrong with you.”

“I guess Trunks is eager to watch us murder you _again?"_ Eighteen sneered. 

“Are you afraid you’ll remember something else?” Gohan asked quietly. 

“Remember something? No. But I’ll be sure to tell you about it when I catch that boy. He’s nearly a man, now. Very handsome. Powerful—he'd have it pretty good if it wasn’t for us. I’ll fuck him bloody and then, after I rip him apart. I’ll show you each limb. How does that sound, _Gohan_.”

“You should think less about Trunks and more about yourselves,” Gohan said flatly. “You remember anything yet?”

“Shut _up!_ ” Eighteen commanded and she slammed into him—

But he was gone. Gohan disappeared. 

“Fucking shit, I’ll _kill_ you!” Eighteen blasted around the empty neighborhood. 

Seventeen watched from above, starting to look a little concerned as Eighteen went fucking batshit and started destroying everything. “Sis, holy shit.” He dismissed chasing Videl and went down next to Eighteen. “Sis—you’re makin a fucking smoke screen.”

“Shut up!” She commanded, breathing hard as she let her hands fall. “He knows why this is happening. But that little fuck won’t tell us until we _make_ him.”

“What if it isn’t him?” Seventeen asked, looking thoughtful. “What if it’s our sensory? We don’t actually _know_ what the doc did to us, Eighteen.”

“No. Fuck you,” Eighteen snapped.

“Well, the kid is gone now,” Seventeen sighed. “So we might as well leave.”

“Next time I see that kid, he’s fucking dead.”

“Sleep on it, sis,” Seventeen said, waving for her to follow him to the south.

“Fuck you.”

“He’s a lot of fun.”

“Fuck _you_.”

 

 

 

Trunks didn’t dare fly. He sprinted down the sparse treeline, keeping an eye up in case the Twins followed. They didn’t. Which struck him as incredibly lucky and also incredibly unusual. 

“Trunks!” 

He stumbled to a stop, blinking blood out of his eye as he spotted Videl further into the trees. He raced to her. He was surprised to see Jaida there. She was sitting on her knees, focusing hard. Trunks went to Videl. “Did you find Baba and Chi-Chi?”

“No,” Videl said. “I went to West City, grabbed Jaida and flew back. I was hoping she could distract them to give you a chance to run for it.”

Trunks looked at Jaida, still focusing on her folded hands, eyes nearly closed. “Did she?”

“She must have. Seventeen never came looking for me.”

“They asked me about the images of their younger selves from the casino. They think I did it, somehow.”

“Really?” Videl said, rubbing her chin.

“Yeah. So I played dumb. Pretended I’d never seen the images.”

Videl brightened. “Oh, nice! If they start thinking something might be wrong with _them_ , it will make them more susceptible.” She clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. “You really are trickier than you look, Trunks. That must be your dad’s side.”

Trunks chuckled a little. “Something like that.”

Jaida shuddered, still sitting in the dirt. Her eyes opened. They looked thick and bleary and it took her a few seconds to really focus. “They just left Pesto,” she managed, sounding breathless. “They’re heading south.”

“You okay?” Trunks said, kneeling down to her and putting a hand on her spine.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly, rubbing her eyes like they hurt. Her nose was bleeding. Videl passed her a scrap of cloth. 

“Let’s hurry,” Videl said urgently. “We need to find Chi-Chi.” She hooked an arm under Jaida’s and helped the younger woman stand, lifting into the air with her.

Trunks followed, flying very low and careful. By sundown, they were back in Pesto. Chi-Chi emerged from the ruins of a bank. She’d watched them try to corner Trunks from the window and then he ran one way and then....he ran the other way. She felt Trunks flare up to the east and watched Eighteen chase the shade of Trunks to the west. Eighteen had stopped about thirty feet in front of the window of the bank. 

The image of Gohan was like a punch to the gut. She’d stared, completely frozen, until Eighteen went mad. 

Baba had been above the city somewhere and she had observed the interaction from afar. But she ended up not having to step in while Trunks got a soul-crushing beating (no wonder he thought so little of himself) and then Gohan had appeared. Baba had paused, watching. “So she did get it from Trunks.” Baba rubbed her chin. “Didn’t think she’d actually be able to do it.”

Chi-Chi was covered in dust as she stirred the rubble of the bank. She heard a couple yells in the darkness and then as she was still digging up—a boulder was lifted away. Videl brightened. “Chi-Chi! Are you all right!?” Videl scrambled, shoving aside dirt and rocks and grabbing her arms to help pull her out.

“I’m all right. Where’s Baba?”

“Not far,” said Baba, zipping up to them. The old woman peered at Jaida’s bloody nose for a moment before looking to Trunks and Videl. “Nice work, both of you. Although, you look like you got the shit kicked out of you, boy.”

Trunks shrugged. “Just another Monday.”

“Do you know about Saiyan biology?”

“That we get stronger every time we almost die?” Trunks said.

“Yeah. Okay. Good. At least someone told you about that. Come here.” She buzzed up to Trunks’ face and placed her hands on his shoulder to heal him. She couldn’t erase signs of an injury, but she could make it older. “Jade—that’s what we’ll work on next. Healing. Tomorrow afternoon.”

“When did you get out here?” Chi-Chi asked.

“I went and got her,” Videl said, glancing sidelong at Jaida. She was being very quiet. She looked tired and drawn. There was dried blood crusted around her nose. 

“I ran from them—so whatever you came up with to distract them—it did the job,” Trunks said, smiling a little. 

Jaida met his eyes for a moment but then looked away almost immediately. Chi-Chi was staring hard at her. Jaida avoided her eyes too. “It was Gohan,” she said quietly.

Videl stiffened, grip tightening under her arm. 

The smile slipped away from Trunks. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I…I see. Well. It. Did the job.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s get back before it gets dark.”

 

 

 

Mai was waiting for them on the road in front of West City’s west gate. “Are you all right?” She asked quietly. “We saw the explosions from here—and then Videl was sighted, then disappeared.”

“Cyborgs,” Trunks said, sighing. 

“Are you all right?”

“We’re fine. Thank you, Mai,” Chi-Chi said. “Come inside with us. Bulma was wanting to talk to you about this energy field you were talking about.”

Mai nodded and gestured to two men, the one with the cowboy hat and another with bright silvery eyes. Videl’s eye caught on him immediately. 

“He is blind,” Mai confirmed. “But he is an incredible fighter.”

“What’s his name?” Videl asked.

“Hazard, as far as anyone knows. I think he picked it himself. He seems to have been blind a long time.”

Hazard followed them silently, seeming uncanny at how he side-stepped potholes and debris and never bumped into any of the others. He had a staff in one hand, tapping the ground with it sometimes. 

Videl stopped outside Jaida’s house and let the operator go. She nodded to everyone before turning away to go inside, quietly. 

“Did you see?” Trunks asked quietly to Chi-Chi, walking beside her. 

Chi-Chi looked up at him and nodded. “It was a perfect image of him.”

“I’m sorry—I—“

“Gohan is dead,” Chi-Chi said, shaking her head. “I need to come to terms with that. My son has been dead for almost four years. And if it’s _that_ potent to use against the cyborgs, then we can’t afford not to.”

“Does that mean she dug around in your _head_ , Chi-Chi?” Videl asked, bristling. “She should have _asked_ you first. She should have warned you. I mean—why would she—“

“She didn’t get it from Chi-Chi. She got it from me.”

Videl blinked, staring at Trunks. 

He looked away a little awkwardly. “She did _ask_ first. I just…she…must have done it while I was…asleep.”

Videl twitched. “Why was she with you when you were asleep?”

Trunks sighed. “Stop. Don’t. Please, don’t. Okay. The day has been hard enough.”

“If she hurts you, I will tear her throat out and watch her die.”

Trunks shook his head, half-smiling a little. “Not necessary, Videl. But thank you.”

Chi-Chi and Videl exchanged looks behind Trunks’ back.


	12. Radar Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: Evil Morty: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2REYTcefdPs  
> \-----------------------------------------------------
> 
> “Well, well, winner-winner chicken dinner,” Seventeen said, beaming as he clapped Trunks on the back.
> 
> “You owe me fifty zeni,” Eighteen said briskly. “I said West City, you said Orange Grove.”  
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And his head pulled back and fingers clamped for just a second

Then he heard a horrid, heart stopping sound. The catch of flesh tearing, ripping a gasp of horror and nausea he suddenly could not feel. He felt wet, thick air get sucked out of him and he compressed down dark into himself. Everything burned, smothering him in the dark—

Jaida lurched up, gasping raggedly, cheeks tearstained and a hand swinging out to the half-burnt candle on the rickety table next to the cot she’d curled up in. She lit it with a pinch of her fingers. Her voice trembled out as the comforting light pushed the shadows back. _No no it was still there, this feeling wouldn't end._ It would keep going and going and going. She fell out of bed, staggering to her balcony doors and pushing them open. She gasped cold fresh air, collapsing onto the carpet, sobbing—

“All right?” asked Baba.

Jaida glanced over at the floating old woman, somehow not surprised to find her out here. “I saw him die. I _felt_ it.”

Baba floated down onto the balcony railing. “You saw a _version_ of him die. Not necessarily this one.”

“What?”

“My entire life, I’ve always wondered at the visions I saw of the people I met. I could never know if they were the past, the future, other possibilities or simply a bad dream. But our Trunks went back in time and the cyborgs did not vanish, we now conclude that multi-verse theory appears to be true.”

“Multi-verse? Like…multiple….universes?”

“Yes. The idea that all decisions have a theoretic probability of going one way or the other. In our universe, no Trunks came back to warn us about the cyborgs. But _ours_ went back to them. That concept is hard to wrap your mind around because we live in a world where time is linear. But here Goku died. There, he won’t.” Baba shrugged. “Or, he’ll die in a different way? Or maybe the disease will change and Bulma’s medicine will be useless. That’s called the Butterfly Effect. That going back and attempting to change one thing in another universe will fuck something else up in a way you can’t anticipate. Who knows what will happen there?” Baba chuckled. “Well, you’ll know—in a manner of speaking.”

Jaida stared at her. “What do you mean? I will see different versions of him?”

“Yes. You will. Just like I do. This is why I charge so much to tell people their futures. When you touch someone’s mind and know their memories—a little piece of them goes with you. You will be more attuned to Trunks’ fate since you touched his mind.”

Jaida’s mouth fell open. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You will dream about things that might happen, or have happened to other versions of himself. It is the price we pay for seeing what we shouldn’t be able to see.”

“So….every person you’ve read the fortunes of…”

“Yes, I still dream about them. All of them. I charge so much because it’s annoying to still see things across universes.”

“Why didn’t you _warn_ me?” Jaida demanded, sitting up on the window seat. 

“If I had, it wouldn’t have mattered, girl. You will never understand the connections you make until you do it. And if you can think of words that can describe what you felt when you dreamed you were that Trunks who died—I’d like to hear them. I still remember what it was like before I learned to tune them out. It took a lot of years a little too close to madness before I could do it.”

“Then why didn’t _you_ look in his head?!” Jaida asked.

“I’ve seen this all before. Times where I thought the world was ended. When I was young, I made rash decisions to try to change things and….sometimes very bad things happened as a result. But those with the gift have to learn. You control your energy in a different way from Videl and, especially different from Trunks. Your attunement is to the universe, not the world around you. There are pros and cons to both sides. As a witch, you have the potential to see and cross into different realms of death and dreams. The potential for knowledge is incredible—but you can never be totally sure what is good or bad--or sometimes what's real and what isn't. You see the big picture—you can see all sides. So you can never be sure about anything. You will become very cynical. That can be very overwhelming when attempting to interpret the future. It’s something you can only learn with time and experience. It's confusing sometimes because it usually comes down to the numbers. The probability for failure is very, very high. We always hope that we're the small percent that will get through it alive.”

Jaida’s eyes narrowed. “How….old are you?”

“Geez, rude. I’m over five hundred years old.”

“Holy _shit_.”

Baba looked up into the moonlight. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I really went to South Galaxy. Maybe in one of these visions, I saw Goku die. And I knew what ruin would come after.”

Jaida jerked, staring at her, suddenly seeing the massive weight of years and years of visions and magic and what it could tear apart, even as it built. “Baba…”

“You learn to live with it. Because there’s nothing else you _can_ do.”

“How can that—I mean, if you’re so powerful, why didn’t _you_ go back in time?”

“Even _I_ can’t travel time. I can travel to other realms on _this_ plane. But I can’t walk through time. I don’t know how Bulma did it—except that she’s a goddamn genius. Truly incredible. She would have made a damn good witch. But since it has never been done until now—witches generally worked under the assumptions that all visions one saw could be possible but only one—if any—would be true. But now that we know that Trunks went to a parallel universe, we now presume that _all_ visions are true somewhere. And that is far less comforting.”

Jaida steadied, staring at the old, old woman. The spirit inside of Baba was so incredibly _strong_. Learning to use her energy this way had been so incredibly eye-opening. Like she was peeling back a foggy film and seeing the world anew. There was no single color but an aurora of shades that cascaded over everything. Shadows flexing in the moonlight had more colors than it thought and she was starting to _see_ them. 

Part of it was terrifying.

She looked up from breakfast one day when she was still at the Briefs’, sitting at the table and shielding her arm unconsciously, as if it were still broken. She had just come in from a long night outside in meditation with Baba. Something in her mind felt like it had splintered. Every nerve inside of her was raw. 

And then Trunks had entered the room and she barely managed not to cry out a warning—Trunks’ aura was…flaring and vibrant and bursting with color. It hovered around him, close and careful and controlled. He was so careful. Always tightly wound up, on guard, watching his back. Always listening for an explosion or a burst of air or Eighteen’s voice cutting through his thoughts and making him break out in a cold sweat—

His aura was so vibrant and colorful but it was tightly bound, bursting at the seams. _What I wouldn’t give to see it come loose._

A wince of shame went through her. 

It was hard to look at Trunks sometimes after that. And harder still after they’d clumsily…been. Here. Together. It hadn’t gone further, both of them too inexperienced to really understand what they were getting in to. They couldn’t even meet each other’s gaze. She’d retreated immediately and so did he. They were carefully respecting the distance they both needed. More time. Lots of things revolved around time lately. ( _Ha, lately._ ) And this was a survival situation. People did crazy things when they were constantly afraid of death. _Tightly wound._

They found outlets. They either hurt other people, hurt themselves or bottled everything up only to burst (with heat/rage/desperation).

It was fucking poetry, looking into Trunks’ memories of fighting. 

He was so powerful—no actions wasted, a blast of raw energy and how his eyes would come alive and his blood would fucking _sing_ and then Eighteen would come at him from the side, of course. She got under his skin a lot more than Seventeen did. That was interesting. Seventeen hadn’t particularly cared about him or Gohan. Eighteen was the one that had taken a more personal interest in them. She was the twisting knife, vindictive and sadistic. 

And for just a brief moment, she could feel his heart _beat_ like a Saiyan—in a different way from Gohan. The will, if not the raw power. 

He...he _liked_ fighting. 

Jaida looked out the window and watched him land in front of Freeza. This would have been right after he landed. His mother had told him it’s where Goku would be. Best arrive early just in case—

“….so I packed you capsules with snacks. I know you’ll get hungry—

“Mom—“

“Its okay, Trunks! You’re allowed to be a growing boy!”

“ _Mom_.”

“Be careful, okay. Look—I know that Goku arrived here and killed Freeza. But he did it before any of the guys made it to the fight. By then, Goku had finished. But….Goku was…” Bulma looked down, struggling. 

“I might not be as strong as him,” Trunks said for her.

Bulma looked away. “Hardly anyone was, Trunks.”

“I’ll be careful.” His voice was hard and flat. 

_Oh god, I’m sending my baby boy off to die because I’m a coward and I should be going instead of him and oh my fucking god Goku had to be a super saiyan to beat Freeza and I don’t know if Trunks—oh god please don’t take my baby boy. I have to let him go, I have to, I can’t—_

Bulma choked it all down and followed him outside. She squared her jaw and touched his sleeve. He looked so handsome in the old jacket. It was tattered and worn and she was sure that her other self would recognize it and be curious about it and maybe even look into it and who knew what ideas her other self might get from one subconscious tweak—

_If they set that android free it will be the end of all of us!_

It lanced through Jaida like a needle, stabbing into her eyes. Her vision blurred and her gaze went limp, unblinking until feeling returned to her face. She shuddered. 

“What did you see?” Baba asked, looking sidelong at her.

“Apparently they’re….actually androids instead of cyborgs in some universes.”

 

 

 

Mai presented her rifle first. 

“It shoots energy bullets?” Bulma said, lifting an eyebrow. 

“They do,” Mai agreed.

“How did you do that?”

“I built a charger.”

“You _built_ a machine that charges energy _bullets_.”

“Well, they are more like…lasers, I suppose. Though just in appearance because—lasers are simply light. Perhaps, ‘charge’ would be a better a term than ‘bullet’.”

It wasn’t so much that the girl had done it. It wasn’t hard. Bulma could put it together in her sleep. It was more that _this_ girl had done it. With almost no supplies, support, place to study or work and little chance to survive failure. She had beaten the odds. In every goddamn way. That was almost unnatural lucky. And she _still_ didn’t seem to remember Pilaf at all. Did she remember passive knowledge from her life as an agent? It might explain the hundred or so people she’d shown up with--if she might somehow remembered how to built a loyalty network. They’d been allowed to populate the residential area of the city and Mai had established a perimeter of a protected ‘zone’. Hardly anyone lived outside of the zone—except Jaida, who manned the radio for the western tower. Baba, of course, only came by to eat and then she’d leave again. 

Videl seemed to be taking to Mai eagerly. She beamed at her. “That’s awesome, Mai! How did you do it!”

And Bulma watched her dark eyes brighten a little, looking almost apologetic as she launched into her explanation. Bulma understood it but Videl was mostly lost. The young woman kept up the interested face though, listening to Mai’s explanation in its entirety and asking questions.

Aw. 

Bulma smiled a little. Videl was gentle and big-sisterly sometimes. She was…sweet. In a way that reminded her of Gohan. 

“Can we improve them?” Mai asked, looking up to Bulma, deferring to her authority and seniority inside of Capsule Corp.

“I think we can, Mai.” Bulma picked up the rifle, examining the old-fashioned sliding chamber and the scorched barrel. “I have a few things from Namek still. Blasters that I stole. I’ll get the metal printer set up and we’ll see what we can do for power—“

“We should do it!” Videl interrupted, eyes lighting up. “To build up stamina! I could channel energy into charges! Trunks could blast them fast if we needed them for something—but I could practice control and stamina if you let me fill them!”

Mai watched her closely. “I would like to see how you channel energy. I have heard stories.”

“It’s quite cool, your energy,” said Hazard, the blind man. “I mean, it feels cool—temperature-wise. I can’t actually see the colors.”

“What?” Bulma asked.

Mai looked sidelong at him. “What _do_ you see?”

“Unbridled potential, struggling against a current, like a wave. Your energy is trying to break passed a plateau.”

Videl paused, eyebrows shooting up. 

“You will never surpass Trunks in raw power. You should focus on speed,” Hazard told her.

Videl recoiled like he’d struck her. “Wh—no! I can _be_ strong enough!”

“No, you can’t.”

“Fuck _you!_ ” Videl snapped, hackles going up.

“Hey! No fighting near the labs, you idiots!” Bulma put her hands on her hips. “Don’t even start that shit in here. This is how things get broken.”

Videl scowled.

“How do things get broken, Videl?” Bulma asked her, pointedly raising her eyebrows.

Videl huffed. “Fighting near the labs,” she grumbled and stalked down the hallway.

“I did not mean to give offense,” Hazard said quietly, in the heavy silence. “I only thought to help. I am sorry.”

Bulma shook her head. “It’s okay. She’s still young in some ways. With the guys I knew…some of them could never accept it either.”

“It is a poison to any conscious soul. It _eats_ you inside.”

“What about you? You seem pretty ready to have a go at the cyborgs,” Bulma said, studying the blind man and his misty white eyes. 

“I am. And I fight them when I find them.”

“And how does that go?”

The man allowed a small smile. “I am still alive.”

Bulma chuckled. “So what you're saying is: you never found them.”

He laughed. “I learned how not to see.”

“Ooo, so mysterious.”

“Trunks would understand, I think. He might not be able to explain it—but I believe he would understand it. It is the spirit part of him.”

Bulma huffed. “That’s not even an answer.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Mai, let’s go to the lab and see what we can do.”

 

 

 

Trunks hesitated on the street before he lifted up to her window. The casement was open, letting in the sea air. Her candle was burning. Of course he was not rude enough to simply enter—she might think he was a cyborg and panic. God knows he would consider it. So he knocked on the window that was shut. She reappeared in the room, almost tripping over her feet when she saw him. She hurried over. 

“Is everything all right? What happened?”

“Uh—oh—no,” Trunks said quickly, somewhat clumsily. “Everything is—it’s fine. I just...wanted to ask you something about my…uh…” he struggled for words—

“About Gohan?” She managed quietly, sounding almost apologetic again.

“Yeah. If you saw my memories of him fighting—do you think you could…I don’t know…recreate a shade that might…be able to mimic how he fought?” He tried not to look too eager for an answer. Trunks watched her eyes goes down, studying the floor and skittering back and forth. 

She cupped her chin. “I bet that’s possible. I mean…I think I would have to….make it have the…like the same feeling, I guess, that Gohan would. But I can’t really…I don’t know what it means, what it feels like—to be a super saiyan—or even just a saiyan. So I would never know how correct it was.”

Trunks shrugged. “It could just be a shade—it doesn’t have to _be_ Gohan.”

“Yeah but you _trusted_ Gohan. You didn’t go into a fight with Gohan expecting to lose. You went into it with Gohan and expected to _learn_. And you did. Gohan has lived up to a standard that you feel like you can’t match. But he’s the only one that knew.”

Trunks stared at her, everything in him going still and electric. 

The silence stretched and she looked as far away as she could without moving her feet. Her shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…see that. I…I didn’t realize how…I would hear the echoes. When I agreed to learn from Baba, I didn't understand what it would mean….I’m sorry, Trunks.”

Trunks fidgeted a little, biting on his cheek as he struggled for a moment. “It’s okay,” he said, swallowing and then taking a deep breath. “I’m actually here to ask you some questions about it.”

“Okay, yeah—sure.” She nodded and sat down on the end of her cot. 

Trunks sat down in a quilt-covered rocking chair. “When you saw my thoughts—were you in my dreams?”

“No,” Jaida said, quietly shaking her head. “Dreams are different. Like oil and water.”

“So…does someone have to be asleep for you to see their thoughts?”

“No, they can be awake. It’s just easier—it was how Baba told me to practice.” 

Trunks mused on that. “So it is a form of energy control. So how about if I’m awake. Then I’ll become a super saiyan and then you should focus on that power.”

“You mean…try to touch your mind when you’re a super saiyan?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure about that? I mean, is it gonna liquefy my brain?”

“I dunno,” Trunks said and shrugged. “I’ve just been thinking about it ever since Baba talked to me in my head. It was such a weird feeling. And of course if I asked what it felt like to her…“

“Oh, yeah. She’d mock you.”

“Yeah.” Trunks sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I get enough of that from the cyborgs—not in the mood for it right now.” He watched her aura flex, keening a little towards him like she wanted to offer some sort of comfort but not sure what. “Besides, I’m hoping I can see something on your end. I’ve got to have _something_ to use as leverage.”

Jaida laughed. “Careful, pal. I know where you sleep.” 

Trunks allowed himself to laugh quietly. It was…kind of nice to do the…sort of part-mocking, part-affectionate teasing. Gohan had only really become friends with him like that after he turned thirteen. It hadn't lasted long, obviously.

Jaida looked up at him. She put her hands on her hips. “All right. I’ll try it. But if you liquefy my brain with your super saiyan-ness or whatever—I’m going to make your mom rebuild me so I can punch you.”

“I’ll try not to liquefy your brain,” he promised. 

 

 

 

Ten minutes later, Trunks touched down on the beach. He had played down here by himself as a child. He swam in the ocean and looked for mussels in the tidepools and caught fish. This was a relatively safe area and there were a multitude of caves to use for cover if the Twins appeared. 

He set Jaida down and they wandered to a rocky outcrop. 

“All right, I’ll transform and you try to look in my head.”

Jaida still looked uneasy. “Are you sure about this?”

He only nodded, steeling himself and then with a surge from his core, he transformed.

She’d never been so close to him as a super saiyan before. For a moment, she just stared at his aura, how his energy flickered and roared. Still carefully controlled but flaring and bright. He stayed still, standing just inside of a wide cave.

Jaida sat down on a boulder, folding her hands together. Trunks watched her take a deep breath and close her eyes. He paid close attention, trying to pinpoint it when she looked in his head. Like when Baba had spoken to him—he felt his aura flicker around his neck. How Jaida’s energy changed, replicating his own, matching against his and then disappeared. Her aura vanished and then he felt…oddly like he wasn’t alone.

Trunks touched the stone wall to ground himself. His mind wasn’t like a file cabinet. It was more like a pool of knowledge and memory. And her touch felt like a cold ripple. It was uncomfortable, like an itch in his head. He raised his power, making the golden aura roar. 

She saw and heard only the power of the super saiyan. Everything was gold and loud and both shrieking but also the most incredible song as all vibrations cascaded into that aura and went still. Gold, flaring and cool and—

Another set of piercing green eyes, flaring before him. This man was bigger, taller than Trunks was.

_Wow, I’d forgotten what it’s like looking from the outside in._

And all at once, the big man’s glare faded and he smiled, friendly and warm. She felt how Trunks responded to it automatically. Felt how their auras flexed together and seemed oddly similar. 

Sort of like how Vegeta and Gohan felt similar. 

“Goku was a spirit Saiyan?” Jaida asked.

Of all the questions he expected, it wasn’t that. Trunks blinked. “Oh, uh—yeah, I guess so. My mom said he was.”

“But Gohan wasn’t?”

“Well…he didn’t really like fighting as much as Goku.” Trunks peered at her. 

“You feel like Goku—at least—I think that’s who I saw. You met him in the past? He became a super-saiyan when you asked him to?”

Trunks glanced aside. “Yes….he did.” He shifted in the sand. “So you’re seeing what I saw?”

“Well, I see what, at least, a version of you saw. Can’t know for certain if it was _you_ you.”

Trunks sighed heavily. 

Jaida chuckled softly. “I know, right? Pain in the ass.”

Trunks half-smiled a little. “I wish I were half as smart as Mom. It's hard to wrap my head around." He scratched his hair. "And, you know, I don't know if we see the same thing because we use energy in different ways--but as much as your aura fluctuates—I’d think you’d be able to create barriers. Has Baba talked about that yet?”

“We’re hoping to work on shields once I can build up the stamina and strength. Let me study your glow again.”

So Trunks _pushed_ and instead of delving into his head, she seemed to skim along the edges. It felt…weird. Trunks wasn’t sure how else to describe it. Except maybe…er. Intimate. But that was—that had too many other implications. And he wasn’t ready for that. 

But he felt it when she sunk into the roaring river of power that surrounded him. She lost all sense of self, immersed in the incredible feeling. All her hurts and thoughts vanished, just experiencing what that much power felt like. It was heady and wild. Made her prickle fiercely, like she could do anything in the world if she could just latch onto that—

She shuddered, pulling back a bit to herself. Trunks swallowed hard. It was almost like she felt…warmth or pleasure or something. How her senses were honing in and eyes closing and breathing caught and held—

The floods of rage, of despair, of helplessness, watching Gohan die over and over.

Running from the cyborgs as he struggled into manhood, now alone for good. Gohan’s death had _wounded_ him. 

Seeing Gohan in the past was crippling. It was hard to talk to any of them and yet he wanted to meet the people his mother talked so much about. And most especially the one she _wouldn't_ talk about and seeing—

_Spikey hair, dark eyes, he’s taller than me—we have the same—he feels the same—shit, that must be him. It has to be. That’s….my dad. Holy shit. Holy shit. Calm down. Stay calm, Trunks. He’s…he’s hard to get to know, Gohan told you, remember? He’s…abrasive._

And he was, yelling something murderous at Gohan, who was about seven or so. He looked so….young. And so….well. Happy. Just a boy who wanted to see his father.

And that was like a stab in the gut. He kept still, observing them when Vegeta got prickly and severe. Bulma rolled her eyes and flipped him off. (He fought back a chuckle.) Gohan simply ignored him. Piccolo let his gaze wander over to Vegeta, observing him silently before resuming his watchful lurking. 

And inevitably Trunks’ gaze would wander back to his father, trying to keep his observation of him unobtrusive. Suddenly seeing his own nose and the turn of the eyes was strange. Trunks resembled his mother, he knew—but he’d sat in front of a mirror when he was eight and contemplated what his father might have looked like. No one had a picture of him. But everyone always mentioned the spiky hair. He’d imagined something more like Gohan (of course) so seeing Vegeta’s actual hair was almost funny. His immediate thought was a ragged troll doll he’d found in a ravaged apartment complex. He’d been digging through the rubble, looking for—

—Gohan when he was drenched with rain. The city center and the surrounding area was totally deserted. It was silent. That was, perhaps, the worst part of it. The silence. Silence when he landed, silence when he realized it was his only friend. Silence that ate up his ragged cry, sobbing and bubbling up with rage and despair and helplessness—

—and it turned bright and hot and his eyes rolled back and everything flickered away around him. For a moment, he could see the things around him but also see everything they’d ever been. The trees, the buildings, the world around him—everything that had life or had once been alive. Metal had once been earth. Concrete had once been stone. His blood was singing a strange piercing note inbetween his ears and he breathed cold air, trying to shock his mind back to awareness—

That was the step to never stopping. 

And he was back in the cave, watching her stare into her hands and her eyes were watering and red and she suddenly looked small and slight and faded. She hadn’t been on the radio lately, now that Trunks thought about it. Things were weighing on her, as her existence changed drastically in a way she’d never anticipated. 

Right. Because she wasn’t like Videl. Trunks frowned a little. Videl had come to _them_. Trunks had saved Jaida and so she’d joined them. But—

The moonlight shifted, flickering over her auburn hair like liquid silver—

Unfortunately, it was because Seventeen landed at the cave mouth, right next to Jaida. “Hi,” he said.

Jaida jerked back, scrambling up from the boulder.

“No—“ Trunks shifted to move—

And then Eighteen grabbed him by the hair and smashed him into the stone. “Gave us the slip again last time, eh, Trunks?”

“Who’s this one?” Seventeen started forward and then paused. “Oh wait, I remember you—you were the one in the base! You know I almost got my head cut off by those garroting wires you had rigged up.” 

“Well, that _was_ the intent,” Jaida managed a crooked smile, circling back away from him. 

“Lucky you, I brought some back so we could finish.” He shot forward.

Trunks blasted away from Eighteen, trying to dodge between them. Seventeen slammed into him and the two rolled. 

“Didn’t I break your arm last time I saw you?” Eighteen grabbed Jaida. “So now your Trunks’ little friend? He can’t even beat us. What do _you_ expect to do?”

Jaida spit into her face.

The human registered Eighteen’s eyes getting wider and then something slammed into her. All the breath evacuated her lungs and black spots danced in front of her eyes. Another hit—her nose exploded, spraying Eighteen with blood. 

She didn’t seem to mind. The cyborg grabbed her by the arm, dragging her around. “Hey!” 

Trunks and Seventeen paused, each of them mid-punch. Seventeen smiled. Trunks froze. 

“Trunks. Tell me how you created those illusions or I will tear her arms off while you watch. And we will _make_ you watch. And then we’ll stroll into West City and we will hunt down and butcher every single man, woman and child currently residing there. Doesn’t your mother live there, Trunks?”

Trunks felt his hands go cold. She would do it, he knew. The cyborgs would absolutely do it. They didn’t even really need a reason. It was fun for them. 

“Well, well, winner-winner chicken dinner,” Seventeen said, beaming as he clapped Trunks on the back.

“You owe me fifty zeni,” Eighteen said briskly. “I said West City, you said Orange Grove.”

“Well, we haven’t _confirmed_ that his mom is actually there,” Seventeen pointed out.

Eighteen huffed. “Look at his face right now. He’s terrified that we’re gonna go there and kill his mother.” Eighteen wrinkled her nose at him. “You have _got_ to learn to control your emotions, kid. You just told me everything I needed to know.” 

“Oh Trunks,” Seventeen said. He sighed, sitting down on Jaida’s boulder. “What are we gonna do with you?” 

“You could have so much more fun if you could just stop fighting us,” Eighteen told him. She was still holding Jaida by the arm. She drug the human after her, blood pooling down her shirt. 

“Yeah, you know—why can’t you just let it go. You’ll live longer, kid,” Seventeen agreed, smiling at Eighteen.

“You _killed_ my master and my best friend.”

“Gohan was _your_ best friend. But you weren’t _his_ best friend. He had Krillin and Piccolo. I mean, you _do_ realize that everyone has pretty much already given up, right? You’re the only one that sees any point to fighting anymore.”

The crushing part of that was: Trunks knew she was right.

He tried to shake his head. “No. There’s still…Videl came to us—she _wants_ to fight!”

“Oh really?” Eighteen said, mock-gently. “Well, she hasn’t fought us yet, has she? How do you think she’ll do, Trunks?”

The half-saiyan tensed and he glanced down.

“Yeah. You know the truth, Trunks. We’ll rip her apart if she attacks us. You’ve just been humoring her. Because you’re just so goddamn _nice_. Aren’t you, Trunks?”

Trunks struggled for a moment. “I…I’m not just…humoring her—“

“You really think she stands a chance? Videl or Chi-Chi or that Roshi guy? Want them to come try and fight by your side, Trunks?”

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Seventeen advised. “It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“Haha, like Gohan,” Eighteen said, pointing at Seventeen and laughing. “I see what you did there, bro.”

Trunks had to swallow hard to keep a hold of himself. 

“Oh, c’mon, Trunks. It’ll be okay.” Eighteen playfully punched his shoulder. “Just tell me how you created the illusions. And I won’t rip her limbs off.”

“I…” Trunks looked between the twins, back at the barely conscious Jaida and then to Eighteen. “It’s not…I—“

“This doesn’t sound like creating illusions, Trunks. Are you sure you’re _speaking clearly?"_ And Eighteen crushed Jaida’s collarbone.

The human jolted, eyes glazing over in pain. 

“Stop it!” Trunks moved to flash across the sand—

Seventeen blocked him. “Then you know what to tell her, don’t you, Trunks?” The cyborg suddenly lost his smile, now that he wasn't facing Eighteen. But he didn’t look exactly hostile either. He raised his eyebrows. “Just do it, kid. Or she’ll rip your friend apart. You don’t have a lot of friends left.”

“I—can’t create them alone,” Trunks managed, saying the first thing that came to his head. “It’s—I mean. I have the energy but….not the ability,” he said quietly, letting his aura die around him. 

Strange how he was suddenly realizing that this is what the cyborgs wanted and expected. They knew he would give eventually—he knew he would if they were going to kill someone. And if Trunks was so predictable…didn’t that mean they’d already made a lot of assumptions? And his mother didn’t like him to use that word. _One who assumes a truth is one I assume to be a dumbfuck._

So long as he acted a certain way, he could scrape by. They had a weird interest in him--being the only challenger on a ruined planet. If they tried to make him prove he was creating the illusions, he couldn't. But if he said it was both of them, they might only attack him and dismiss her. And maybe he could learn something?

_("Bulma, controller of time. Bow before me. Haha!" Bulma swept her hair aside. "And _that_ Trunks, is why knowledge is the most dangerous power of all.")_

“So someone helps you?” Eighteen said, hackles starting to come up.

“Yes,” Trunks said softly, watching Seventeen start to circle him.

“Who? Is it Gohan’s mom? Or Videl—ha, Videl. I remember when we killed her dad. Good times.”

“He _was_ kind of an asshole,” Seventeen agreed. 

“How did you know she was _that_ Videl—“

“Now, now, Trunks.” Eighteen lifted the human, placing fingers right above her left eye. “No distractions. Tell me who. Now.”

Jaida’s arms hung limp at her sides, struggling to breath with her collarbone all mangled. She was in horrendous pain but her aura was steady. It was tightly controlled. She was focusing as hard as she could to keep coherent to the conversation. There was no fear, just pain and anger. 

“She does.” Trunks nodded to Jaida. 

“So she’s your little medium or something or are you just playing out a tired post-apocalyptic video game?” Seventeen jeered, smirking.

“Any time you don’t want to have a ruined world—you could always stop killing people,” Trunks said tersely.

“Oh, and then what? Run for president?”

“Anything else,” Trunks said and looked right into Seventeen’s eyes. “You could do anything else.”

“That doesn’t _sound_ like how you created illusions, Trunks,” Eighteen warned. She pushed her fingers inward. 

“She sees things and I give her the power to create them. But alone, we can’t create anything. So we could just…not do that. If you could stop bringing up Gohan every time I see you assholes.”

“You know he’s not wrong—you’re all pissed off about the illusions, but we’ve taunted him with Gohan a lot,” Seventeen allowed, nodding thoughtfully.

“I think you’ve missed the point, Seventeen.” Eighteen looked back at Trunks. “And I think you have too. I’m not just _annoyed_ at these images. I _hate_ them.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll see something you regret?”

“Oh, Trunks,” Eighteen said and smiled. “You just don’t know when to quit. I guess you never did lose as many people as Gohan. Let’s get that lesson out of the way.” She shoved her fingers into Jaida’s eye socket, scrambling it around. Blood poured from the mashed jelly of her eye as the rest of her body seized up in shock. 

Trunks felt something ripple through his mind, carnal and wild. It was a wave of feeling, the same jolt he remembered when Goku had transformed in front of him. Maybe it was the saiyan part of him, writhing for blood and piercing his eyes and—

For just a moment, he saw a blue-skinned man who was very squat and round. His antennae rippled and he jerked up in surprise. 

And then it was gone. Trunks was moving, blasting by Seventeen. Eighteen was not having it. She dropped the human, grabbed Trunks by the shirt and smashed him into the stone. He heard the sharp _wham_ of her fist before he felt it ricochet off his ribs. 

And then he vanished, because he wasn’t there. Eighteen whirled around, where Trunks was grabbing the human and phasing across the sand—

Seventeen clothes-lined him. “Nice one, kid.”

The cyborg jerked away when Eighteen’s bloodied face turned upwards.

 _(They took all my teeth! He ripped them out!)_

“Goddammit! Stop it!” Seventeen commanded. 

“Stop looking in my head!” The real Eighteen was walking to the human, grabbing her up and screwing her thumb into her other eye. “Stop looking in my head! Stop it! You stupid, dumb little cunt! Stop it! Stop—”

Something bright blue flashed through the cave. Eighteen screamed, Seventeen yelled—it sounded oddly panicked. Like it _hurt_ them.

Outside the cave, Mai hopped down from someone’s car. It was covered in scorch marks and barbed wire. She was carrying a rifle. Bulma was with her, carrying another gun.

“Not my son, you little fucks.” She fired.

The next blast was different. It was a sort of wave of sound. Seventeen reeled back, clamping his hands over his ears.

“The fuck is that—!” Eighteen demanded, stumbling.

Videl and Chi-Chi went to Jaida, lifting her between them. Hazard and Lancer grabbed Trunks, taking him back to the car. 

“I can fly him back—“

“No!” Baba cut Videl off. “Stay together. 

Bulma pulled out a small grenade. “Let’s go. I’ve got a present to leave behind.”

Everyone hopped in the car and Bulma tossed the device. It beeped twice and then burst with infrared light and colors, strange sounds and a _pulse._

Bulma watched them writhe, Vegeta’s eyes going blank and dark over and over again in her head. Watched how the strange pulse made them seize up. Eighteen’s nose started to bleed and Seventeen slammed his fist into the stone in rage and frustration as the sound blasted around the cave.

“What did you do?” Chi-Chi asked quietly as they sped away. She was wiping blood from Trunks’ face.

“It’s the same radio waves that I used for the dragon radar.”

Mai blinked at Bulma. “Who knew they would be sensitive to that!”

“No one,” Bulma smirked. “But I do now.”

“Wait, you didn’t _know_ ,” Mai demanded.

“Duh,” Bulma laughed. “Honestly, I just try things until something works.”

“I thought you were a scientist,” Mai exclaimed.

“The only difference between a scientist and a maniac is that a scientist writes things down.”


	13. Won't Learn to Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [If you're curious, the book is _Sabriel_ by Garth Nix.]  
>  \---------------------------------------------------  
> A bit of Trunks/Jaida  
> \--------------------------------------------------  
> Music in my head for Videl was totally Time's Scar (lol): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J46RY4PU8a8  
> and  
> The Way by Zack Hemsey: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN2Xs-MvxLw  
> \--------------------------------------------------
> 
> Trunks started, seeing Chi-Chi had her glasses out. On the wide, grey desk, a ruler was lying innocently. There were fresh markers for the dry-erase boards. Chi-Chi’s arms were _severely_ crossed. 
> 
> _(”That was the warning sign, Trunks. I knew I had to disappear or I’d spend the afternoon choking down post-Red Ribbon Economic and Global Politics.”)_ \---------------------------------------------------

Videl stared down at the bay. She was biting hard into her sleeve, rocking back and forth in the shadow of thick trees. The rage was hot and hateful inside of her. Unable to help Trunks at all—even after all this work and training. She had not even realized the scale in which she was outclassed. Freeza, he could destroy _planets_. Whole planets. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around that. 

And he was _weak_ compared to Trunks. What the ever-loving fuck! 

That wasn’t fair. That _couldn’t_ be fair. How could Trunks get so powerful if Earth-type humans had such inferior blood? How did Gohan and Trunks get so powerful so quickly—so _young_ \--if the only Saiyan to achieve it in hundreds of years was this Goku Son—how do you just happen to hit the Super Saiyan lottery within a generation _again_. 

_Twice._

Did humans get attached to things because of their relative weakness? There had to be something else. Something _more_. Did Gohan and Trunks’ human blood amplify the advanced ability of their Saiyan blood?

Was it the drive to create emotional attachments that didn’t appear to exist in Saiyan culture? 

Videl dug her fingernails into her hair. _Don’t be boring. Think outside the box, Videl._

There had to be _something_. Some way for humans to step beyond and into power. Not just those with Saiyan blood. Why did humans have to be the victims on their own planet? She was grateful to Trunks, of course. She’d become attached to the kid. But why did saving the world mean only _him_. Shouldn’t there be something to balance things out? But what force was there that could bring down something that had no weakness. What did you—

_Gravity?_

Videl glanced down at the gun she’d borrowed from Mai. It was still glowing strangely. The purest form of gravity was like creating a black hole. 

_So, what, Videl? Going to start ripping holes in the fabric of the universe._

She was considering it, to be honest.

“Videl?” Chi-Chi crept from the shadows. “Are you all right?”

Videl’s shoulders curled in, glaring furiously at her knees.

“Videl?”

Videl didn’t look up. “This isn’t fair, Chi-Chi. You know, I always thought of us as being a force for good or something. But we’re not.”

Chi-Chi furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“We just _are_. We just exist. We’re not active participants in the destruction of our own world.”

“Videl, you—“

“Yes, I work so hard. Yes, I believe really hard. Yes, I want it a lot. But sometimes you don’t get things no matter how hard you work. There _has_ to be something else.”

“Something else? Like what, magic?”

“No—something that even _I_ could use. Something different. If Saiyans are Life and witches are Change, then what are humans? What are fighters? Death? What is death? The absence of something. Usually Life. But not always.”

“Videl,” Chi-Chi said, voice softer. “I think you need to lie down—“

“I’m not crazy. It doesn’t feel balanced otherwise. There has to be something. If we could recreate dark matter—“

“Videl,” Chi-Chi interrupted, voice stern. “When was the last time you slept?”

Videl choked a little. “Twenty years ago. Before my mom left.”

Chi-Chi slid an arm around her, sitting down with her on the rock. She gently stroked Videl’s dark hair, listening to her shake out the pent-up words and feelings and rage inside of her. Gohan had been this way at seven—always absently muttering and checking the locks on the doors and he _never_ left his curtains open and he woke up in a cold sweat more nights than not, screaming in terror from visions of Freeza and Ginyu and poor Dende and chaotic, unpredictable Vegeta. And that would all lead back to the first time he felt power rumble through him like a feral beast and he hit his uncle in the chest like a cannon ball. It was both wonderful and terrible. Everything had a strange shine to it. The year abandoned with Piccolo. Turning into the Saiyan-form in the moonlight and the utter terror at his own rage. Gohan felt things _so_ intensely. 

_("I should help Trunks. I’m the only one who can. But…I’m afraid. I’ll lead that poor kid to his death. If I weren’t such a failure, Piccolo and Krillin and Vegeta might still—")_

Something bristled inside of Chi-Chi, rumbling up like a mother bear, protective and strong. Solid as stone, a burning core of _determination_ behind it. “Videl.”

The younger woman hitched a breath and glanced up at her. Her eyes were red.

“I’ll help you find it. Other fighters who couldn’t otherwise use magic could sometimes train their body to shoot flames or direct lightening or water or air. They’re part of our existence. We ought to be especially able to tap into the power of our own world, right? So you’re thinking about the absence of matter?” Chi-Chi got up, hauling Videl to her feet. “How much do you know about physics?”

Videl looked at her blankly. “Uh, probably nothing?”

Chi-Chi narrowed her eyes. “Take me home, Videl—I need my books.”

 

 

An hour later, Trunks and Jaida found themselves hustled into the compound and to an empty conference room. Jaida was wearing an eyepatch over her left socket. Eighteen had scrambled it pretty thoroughly and there’d been no saving it. No matter how old Baba made it—it couldn’t reform the eye. So they closed the wound and now Jaida had to learn about not having depth perception. That was why she looked around a lot more. Trunks unconsciously went to her blind side. 

Lancer clapped them both on the shoulder as Hazard ghosted in behind him. “Bulma sent me here with these two, Chi-Chi? Said you needed them for something?”

“Yes, thank you, Lancer. That will do.”

Lancer tipped his cowboy hat and shrugged apologetically at Trunks before grinning and heading out. Hazard stayed.

“What’s going on?” Trunks asked, looking alarmed. 

“I just realized, none of you have ever been to school, have you?”

Trunks looked a little relieved as he and Jaida exchanged a glance.

“I’ve been to school!” Videl argued. “I was eleven when the cyborgs came and blew it up!”

“There was no physics in the fifth grade, so it was useless.”

Trunks started, seeing Chi-Chi had her glasses out. On the wide, grey desk, a ruler was lying innocently. There were fresh markers for the dry-erase boards. Chi-Chi’s arms were _severely_ crossed. 

_(”That was the warning sign, Trunks. I knew I had to disappear or I’d spend the afternoon choking down post-Red Ribbon Economic and Global Politics.”)_

As if she sensed it, Chi-Chi burned her gaze into Trunks’ skull until he felt it and looked up at her. She saw him blink and hesitate—

“So I am going to catch you all up on things you’re lacking. Especially you, Trunks. You traveled through time, you should know most of all! The physics that—“

“Back away slowly,” Trunks said to Jaida, keeping his eyes on Chi-Chi as he took a step back.

“Trunks!” Chi-Chi warned, pointing severely at him.

“Okay, Chi-Chi—“

_”Trunks!”_

“Go! Hurry!” Trunks grabbed Jaida around the waist and shot out of the classroom, running with her to the railing and hopping into the open stairwell while Jaida stood beside it. He burst out laughing as Chi-Chi barreled out of the door. The half-Saiyan scooped Jaida up in his arms and shot up to the top floor. They escaped out the old roof exit, laughing. 

“Goddamn kids,” Chi-Chi grumbled as she headed back into the room.

Videl was laughing herself silly. “I didn’t even _think_ to do that. What the hell.”

Hazard smiled. “It’s good to see them still be kids in some ways.”

Perhaps Chi-Chi felt the same, which might explain why she didn’t seem all that upset. She was just finishing her setup when the door opened and Mai appeared. Chi-Chi nodded to her. “Mai. Do you need something?”

“I heard you were teaching.”

“Physics, yes,” Chi-Chi confirmed.

“I would like to learn this.”

Chi-Chi blinked at her and smiled. Videl perked up and pulled out the chair next to her. “Have a seat, Mai.”

“I am surprised that Trunks is not here,” Mai said quietly. 

“Yes, next time I think I’ll gather you two first. He might be less likely to run.”

That made Mai looked down at her desk. Almost. Shyly.

As if the universe heard them, the door opened yet again and Baba floated inside. Trunks and Jaida walked in sheepishly behind the witch. However she caught them, they didn’t seem to want to discuss it. She said nothing to the pair, just eyed them as she floated out. “Call me down if they give you any lip, Chi-Chi.”

The Fire Mountain queen smiled. “There we are. Class assembled.”

 

 

 

By the time they broke for food, Videl was still stubbornly working through a set of calculations. Chi-Chi was thrilled with her determination. Jaida and Trunks bailed as soon as Chi-Chi’s back was turned. Mai stayed, just watching. 

Hazard stayed as well, observing as Chi-Chi went through the calculations carefully with Videl. This was what Chi-Chi truly seemed to excel at. Her energy was like a waking forge, warm and powerful but _this_ is what she liked. Perhaps that’s how powerful couples stayed together? One had to like fighting and the other had to…well, not even dislike fighting—but just enjoy something _else_ more. 

Goku had loved fighting. Chi-Chi really hadn’t. But she wasn’t co-dependent either. She was strong, tough and smart. She didn’t _need_ Goku. But he was a good foil to make sure she didn’t get too stuck in her own head. 

Bulma and that Vegeta he’d heard about—Bulma liked the intensity of action and her intuitive approach to technology rivaled both the witches and the fighters here. Perhaps she would have enjoyed fighting if she’d been brought up into it. Maybe Vegeta hadn’t really liked it all that much—but had done it as a matter of necessity and survival. Sort of like Gohan. (Bulma would talk a lot about Gohan if given the correct prompts.)

He felt Videl think, going through the numbers. She stood up to study the dry-erase board. The young woman marked out a number, raising another, writing something. She stared at the dry erase board, seeing the patterns in the numbers, seeing how they almost seemed to _glow_. They had matching lines to the answer. 

Videl peered at it. _Is this how Gohan saw numbers? Did Chi-Chi teach him how to see it like this?_

Something was there. These numbers told her a story, gave her an answer—but different from Bulma’s. She could grab this and run with it. Now that the basic principle was explained—she could look inbetween energy and what moved it. 

Chi-Chi stared at her, feeling Videl’s energy shift into something else. Something that was different from Gohan and Goku. Something…that made her think of…

“I have an idea, Chi-Chi,” Videl said, still staring at the board of scribbles. She turned her hard blue eyes to Hazard. “Hey, you said I should learn how to sprint, right?”

“Essentially.”

“What if, instead, I learn how to make someone else _stop_.”

Hazard lifted his chin, studying her. “Rather than dodge, you want to hold? Possible. But it’s a more difficult way to handle energy. And failure is far less forgiving.”

“But I think it will work. Trunks and the Saiyans can achieve such incredible power because they tap directly into all life forces around us. It amplifies natural energy. Living energy. So when a Saiyan almost dies…their body quickly tries to….displace that missing lifeforce? Almost like how the body will regenerate plasma if you have it removed from your blood. So say that a Saiyan's blood works on a similar principle but then instead of their bodies simply adjusting--it doubles its production of Saiyan-goo or whatever and that forces their bodies to expand and strengthen to accomodate. Being infused so suddenly with that doubled lifeforce, might be what helps them gain strength when they nearly die.”

Chi-Chi started, blinking at her. 

“Oh my shit,” Videl said, slapping a palm to her forehead. “And _some_ are probably more attuned than others. They gain more back when they’re so hurt. But for half-Saiyans, more of the… _saiyan-ness_ is missing. So their bodies work harder to compensate when they're really young--so they take twice the damage that a human will but heal twice as strong as a Saiyan would?”

“Which might explain why Trunks and Gohan were able to become super saiyans so young,” Chi-Chi mused. “Let’s get Bulma over here.”

They did and Bulma listened to the theory. Lancer, who had followed, leaned against the conference room wall. Bulma peered at Videl, looking interested. “So how would Trunks use that?” Bulma mused, scratching her cheek.

“Not Trunks,” Videl said. “Us.”

Bulma sighed softly.

“Bulma—just—hear me out.”

“You’re just gonna get yourself killed, Videl.”

“I’m not asking for anyone’s help. I’m talking about using the opposite of energy.”

“Before the cyborgs, yeah, I had the tools to create dark matter. But I don’t anymore.”

“Energy is heat, energy expands. I want to do the _opposite_ of that.” Videl scowled. “I can picture it in my head—but it’s hard to explain. I just—let me work on it for awhile.” She whirled around to head outside, talking to herself the entire way.

“She’s gonna get herself killed,” Bulma said, shaking her head at Chi-Chi. “We can’t just snap our fingers and pull anti-matter out of the air. Even if we _could_ , we would probably end up creating a goddamn black hole in our swimming pool!”

Lancer raised his eyebrows under his dusty cowboy hat, smiling a little at Bulma. “You have a pool?”

Bulma snorted, feeling his eyes sharpen on her. “Well, yeah, duh.” She looked over the calculations on the board. “What does she _see_ here? What is this a calculation of?”

“Just gravity and matter. How two objects will hit the ground at the same time regardless of weight.” 

Bulma wrinkled her nose a little. “Gravity is constant though—you can’t just break it. Even Trunks and Videl have to expend more energy than it takes for gravity to keep them down.”

“As do the cyborgs,” Mai said, peering at the board and tilting her head as she thought about it. 

 

 

 

Videl was outside all night. She was sweating and her nose was bleeding. But she could _feel_ something. Something vibrating just beyond reach. 

_I learned to fly, goddammit. I can do this. I can do it._

It was, again, different from what Trunks had shown her. Tapping into energy in a different way. Instead of pulling inward with all her energy so she could feel it in her gut, she branched out. She didn't stop at her hands though, she reached as far as she could. All living things created a field—that was an aura. She brushed against them. 

The cyborgs may have been mostly machine at this point—but even airplanes couldn’t move without expelling energy. They disrupted the air around them. What’s the opposite of air? 

That was a question with a lot of possible answers, depending on context. 

The one most relevant would be gravity. And it, like air, was all around them. It reacted to energy—when Trunks was flying, his aura intensified. When he became a super-saiyan, it blazed around him. Maybe the key was not thinking of air like it was….well…. _air_.

Think of it like water. Water can be displaced. So can air.

_There it is._

Videl’s eyes opened. Moonlight beamed over the yard, making the mist look ghostly as she curled her fingers into that fabric. The shadow behind all things, that never really went away--the sun just drowned it out. Light faded, shadows didn't. It clicked into her head like a gear and she twisted it in her hands like cinching a knot. As the knot became smaller and tighter, something around it got bigger. And between her palms was a dark glob of anti-air. Videl felt her throat flutter as the orb latched into her—pulling at her, like a magnetic hook had been attached to her lungs. 

_It’s catching me in its gravity._

But the dark stuff couldn’t simply be dispelled like Trunks’ orbs of light. Energy could dissipate. But this was different. It was displaced, so it had to go somewhere else. When she released it, it slammed down into the dirt like solid lead. And then it seized, shrinking into the ground, leaving a little marble behind. 

Videl picked it up—and nearly didn’t. It was heavy. Much heavier than she expected. She had to adjust her fingers to grab into it. It was purely black, like an obsidian eye, perfectly circular, smooth as a teardrop. 

She had to increase her force, or she’d never be able to throw harnessed gravity where she needed it. It would drag her along with it. Videl glared down, seeing her own blue eye reflected back at her. She wrapped the stone in her glove. 

She wanted to create a second one for her other hand, but the energy ripped her glove apart and pulled the gravity stone into it. It rattled like a marble inside a skull and then shot out. Videl ducked just in time, as the stone of gravity went whistling through the air, smashing through the living room window and out of the roof. It didn’t seem to lose speed at all. 

“Oh, shit,” Videl observed. “I wonder if it can slow down.”

Then again….

 

 

 

 _”The deepest, lowest bell,”_ Jaida read in the firelight. _“The sound of strength. Saraneth was the binder, the bell that shackled the Dead to the wielder’s will.”_

“That sounds like a good one,” Trunks said, chuckling a little.

The two of them were sprawled in front of the fireplace. Jaida was reading from a book they’d found in an old office building. It was about a woman who used energy with marks and could bind the spirits of the Dead. Off on an adventure to save her father. 

It sounded a lot better when he got to imagine it was someone else. 

Jaida brought the book down to her breast, looking over at him. She was lying on her back on the floor, feet propped on the threadbare couch. “So, if we like this book—do you think we could find it in the past? I saw that there’s a sequel to this one.”

“I’ll keep an eye out when I go back.” Trunks laughed, lying on his front and supporting his head with his arms. 

“How long is that? I mean…until you go back?”

Trunks glanced up at her. “Another month or so.”

They both looked down.

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

Trunks shrugged. “It’s hard to say. And when I come back…well, I don’t know if you guys will even know that time has passed. At first I thought I’d have to wait three years. When Mom said six months—after she observed the machine for a few days—I was glad for that, at least. It just…seems weird now. The prospect of going back.”

She pulled her feet down off the couch and sat up, putting the book aside. “I mean—you should be fine though, right? You’d be more than a match for them with all those others, right?”

Trunks sat up too, sighing a little. “That’s the hope. Providing nothing changes.”

“Baba told me about the Butterfly Effect.”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Trunks said, shaking his head. “I’ll either get torn to pieces or I’ll make it back. And hopefully, they won’t need me. Hopefully, I can go there, get help, and then come back. But that’s the best case scenario.”

“You should write things down while you’re there. I mean—because…no one else has done what you’re doing.”

They leaned back against the couch, quietly contemplating on that. 

“I’m sorry about your eye,” Trunks said softly.

He was sitting on her right side, making it easy to glance up at him. “It’s not your fault. We’re still alive, right?”

“Mom said she used the same radar that the dragon radar uses.”

“Oh yeah!” Jaida said. “What _is_ that? Dragon radar? It detects dragons?”

“Wow…that’s so weird,” Trunks muttered, shaking his head.

“What?”

“There are people who…don’t _know_ about the dragonballs. I never even…considered that. I mean, it’s always been common knowledge for me. It’s so strange to meet people and realize that what I thought was so normal….is actually like….a big secret. Most people don’t know about it.”

“Well, what is it?”

He gave her the abridged version.

“Almost any wish you want? That’s crazy.”

Trunks nodded. “I can’t even imagine.” He looked at the ceiling. “What would you wish for? I mean—besides making the cyborgs go away. That’s a given.”

She looked thoughtfully at the fire, tried to smile but it faded almost as soon as it started. She glanced over at him again. 

“What?” he asked softly, meeting her eyes.

She looked away, shoulders hunching a little. “I guess….I just…want you to be okay. And to come back. That would be nice.”

Trunks half-smiled a little. “Well, guess I better be on my game then. If I have to make my own luck, then I’ll have to punch someone really hard or something.”

She chuckled. “What about you?”

Trunks looked down. The kneejerk response was: _Gohan. Wish back Gohan._

But…Gohan had been dead for four years. _Could_ someone come back after that long? Would Baba know? “I guess I’m not sure…” he said finally. “I’d have to know the limitations on the wishes.”

“Maybe you could wish them back?” She asked quietly.

“….I wonder what they would…think of how I’ve changed.” That seemed to bother him, looking down at his knees.

“Gohan would be proud of you,” Jaida said, shrugging, as if that were the obvious answer. 

Trunks reached up, a little awkwardly at first, but she didn’t jerk away when he touched the fringe of her hair. 

She seemed okay with his lack of words. Maybe she felt it? She wrapped an arm around him and hugged him tight. “He would be _proud_ , Trunks.”

Trunks shuddered a little and finally buried his eyes in her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in. He felt that chaotic energy rattling around inside of him again, the one that made him want to _fight_. It made him bristle, shoulders hunching and fingers digging into her shirt. And before he really registered it, he was getting up. She did not resist when he drug her in against him—and then he simply moved over her, grabbing a fistful of her auburn hair.

Was it the Saiyan parts of him that made him more aggressive? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t have anyone to ask. He didn’t think on it. It was nice to shut his mind off and just go with the feeling. He could feel it, smell it, how it made her _want_ in return. Something that wasn’t fear or pain. That was enough (for teenage hormones, anyway).

She braced her thigh between his own, felt her touch his hip and shift into him. She stroked his hair, breathing him in. It was…soothing. In a strange, unfamiliar sort of way. He moved into it, greedy for something positive.

That was the first time she touched him. If she focused too much with her single eye—it made her head hurt. So she let her eye relax, feeling his reactions carefully through his aura. Her fingers slid inward, finding him half-hard. She searched his feelings when she touched him, gently stroking him through the fabric. He looked away from her, let his hair hang in his face to try to hide his expression. Something caught, hunted, almost ashamed. 

He strangled a shaky breath into silence. 

Jaida touched his hair with her other hand. “It’s all right,” she murmured into his ear.

He tensed up before his shoulders hunched and he buried his eyes in her hair. She felt him come, trying to gently stroke him through him. His trousers were damp and hot. It was strange to feel it, stranger to look up and suddenly meet his face. His eyes were blown wide and dark, all fear had evaporated. He grabbed her, yanking her up to him and pressing his palm between her thighs. She stiffened, muffling a soft sound when he felt the heat there through her jeans. She let him move her how he wanted, popping the clasp and pressing those large, rough fingers into the denim and touching her directly—

Something crested over her like a wave. Whatever it was, he must have felt it too because he breathed in deep as he watched her face—especially when she tried to look away. 

She shook apart quickly under his attention, holding onto him when she did. 

He sat up, kept holding her to him as he tangled them together in his lap. He braced his chin on her shoulder, panting to get his breath back. She buried her eyes in his collarbones, holding onto his shirt.


	14. Lazuli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No,” Eighteen said, smirking. She folded her arms. “Seems the grown up women need to talk.”
> 
> Videl grinned, showing her teeth
> 
> “Ah, that’s all you then. Have fun, ladies.” Seventeen blasted off.  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Vegeta!” Gohan zipped over, stumbling onto the broken concrete of the road. “Vegeta! Are you okay!”

The saiyan sat up with a growl, shoving debris off himself and jumped up. “Move, boy!”

“Hey, shortstack,” Eighteen said, dealing the kid a punishing kick that sent him flying through a concrete wall.

“Oh, sorry,” Eighteen smirked, folding her arms as she watched Vegeta.

“Sorry? For kicking a child? Anyone coward can do that.”

“You’d know, right?”

“Well, you apparently know all my tricks—so you don’t need to ask, do you?” The prince could feel Gohan stirring. The boy seemed so weak. He didn’t love combat like a real Saiyan. But, he was also so _strong_. Damn the stupid kid and his stupid weak father for not killing whoever these Red Ribbon fucks were when he had the chance. Also, what a waste that Kakkorot wasn’t around to enjoy a real fight.

Vegeta smeared blood from his eye. He was barely holding on to his super saiyan form. He could take a few more hits from the bitch—which should be enough time for Gohan to run, if he wasn’t stupid. Yamcha was already dead, no big shock there. Tienshinhan was dead too, which was a shame as he actually knew a few useful techni—

Vegeta shot into the air, throwing his palms up. _Solar Flare!_

Eighteen swore, covering her eyes immediately. 

Vegeta sped down through the buildings, breaking through a wall and grabbed Kakkorot’s boy. He hauled him up by the shirt. “On your feet, boy. We’re not done today.”

“Vegeta,” Gohan said, searching the prince’s face, desperate for some sliver of a chance. Something. _Anything._ “Wh…what do we do?”

The prince scowled, hearing Eighteen yelling insults blindly. “Go find the Namekian. If he’s already dead then—“ And suddenly, Vegeta hesitated, cutting himself off. He looked away. 

_To the death._

“Vegeta, you should come with me! If we escape—“

“I don’t need any half-breed’s pity. I am a warrior, a true-blooded Saiyan. I will fight to the death.”

“But Vegeta—“

The prince grabbed him by the collar. He shook the boy. “Gohan.”

That, of anything else, was what got his attention. Vegeta had never _once_ used his actual name. 

“One of us is going to die. You still have time and potential. Go. Find the Namekian and if he’s already dead, then you should leave.”

Gohan stared at him, looking thunderstruck. “B-but Vegeta—where should I—“

Vegeta scowled. “Stop blubbering, boy! Now, go!” 

A bright presence went out.

“That was Krillin,” Gohan said softly. His eyes unfocused, trying to breath and—

Vegeta grabbed him, shook him roughly. “Find the woman.”

Gohan breathed in hard and sharp. “Bulma and Trunks! They’re still at Capsule Corp!”

Seventeen slammed through the wall. 

“Go, boy!” Vegeta commanded. He whirled around to intercept the black-haired young man.

Gohan took a step back. Eighteen appeared above. He _felt_ everything in Vegeta rise, the Prince’s saiyan blood sparking as he lit up like a firecracker.

Gohan fled.

He felt Vegeta die just as he reached Capsule Corp. He couldn’t find Bulma or Doctor Briefs or his wife, just Trunks—the baby was confused and crying, just under a year old. 

He grabbed him up and fled. 

It took him two days to find Bulma. She’d been totally out of her mind when he did. She found each of her friends one at a time, digging them out of rubble and pulling out their corpses to the street as best she could. It was near dawn as she lit a bonfire in one of the roundabouts. Survivors began to gather to it, asking after relatives and friends, those missing and those already dead. Gohan landed, asking around after the blue-haired woman.

“There was one searching out in the western districts. She was…distraught,” an older woman told him, looking sorry even as she spoke. “She said she had a baby. I’m not sure if she still does or if those monsters killed it.”

Gohan took off, running out of sight before lifting into the air and speeding over the city. The city was so full of terror and despair that it was impossible to feel for _just_ Bulma. The sun was fully up by the time he sighted her. 

She was small and folded inward, kneeling on the rubble. Gohan didn’t call out. He approached quietly and saw what he both feared and expected. He hadn’t seen Vegeta’s body in the rows and rows of corpses lined up like sardines on the street. 

He landed, watching Bulma carefully. The woman was staring down at Vegeta’s corpse. Her expression was hard to read, though her eyes were red-rimmed from either crying or smoke (or both). He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Bulma?” He tried, quietly.

The scientist glanced sidelong at him. “Gohan,” she said faintly. She looked back down listlessly at Vegeta. “I…I got to him as he died but I couldn’t move the body until they left—whoever the hell they were. And now I can’t get him up. I…he’s not that heavy. But I…” She looked at her hands. They were covered in scratches and blood and they were shaking. “But I…”

 _Oh god._ Gohan approached her carefully. “I’ll get him out, Bulma.”

“Everyone is dead,” she said softly, gently touching Vegeta’s jaw. “Everyone.”

“Bulma. Trunks is still alive.”

“They hit Capsule Corp,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s dead. Just like everyone else. And once again, I couldn’t do a god _damn_ thing and yet _I'm_ the one that lives--”

“Bulma!” Gohan said, louder this time, and grabbing her shoulder. “Look at me, Bulma!”

The woman did so. Her face was drawn and pale and bloody. Her eyes were haunted and unfocused. She seemed almost dizzy.

“Trunks is _still_ alive, Bulma. He needs you. Please, Bulma.”

“Trunks…” Bulma echoed quietly. “He’s…alive?”

“Yes, he needs you, Bulma. I’ll get Vegeta and…bring him back to Capsule Corp. Trunks is there with your mom and dad. I found them in a bunker yesterday.”

“Trunks…” Bulma said again, softer.

“C’mon, Bulma.” Gohan wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted into the air.

“No—Vegeta’s—“

“I will get him, Bulma.”

And he did. It was difficult to look at the prince, torn to shreds and blood thick and dark on his saiyan armor. When he landed in Capsule Corp’s front lawn, he laid Vegeta down in the grass. The prince looked younger when he wasn’t glaring at everyone. He almost looked as though he were just asleep. 

“I don’t know how saiyans bury their dead,” Gohan murmured to the corpse. “I’m sorry. I won’t let them get away with this. I won’t. I swear.”

Finding Piccolo was both much easier and….far more difficult. When he discovered the namekian with a hole blasted through his chest and all his ribs shattered, he was barely able to contain the reflexive rage that _thundered_ through him. Every saiyan bit of him lit up like a forest fire. It was hard to see, hard to breath. No Piccolo. So no dragonballs. So everyone was dead for real now. No Piccolo. Piccolo was gone. He was dead. He was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Gohan wasn’t sure how much time passed but it was night when he finally managed to get ahold of himself enough to grab Piccolo under the arm and fly him back to Capsule Corp. A lot of people were gathered there, as one of the few fortified buildings in the city and known home of a couple of geniuses, no doubt people were hoping for an answer. 

By the time Gohan had brought the others back, Bulma was outside. She was cleaning the blood off of Vegeta’s armor. She was totally silent, just sweeping her rag back and forth over the blood. Bulma’s mother, Panchii, was fluttering over the scene. She looked distraught as she wiped gore off of Yamcha’s shoulder as gingerly as she could. Doctor Briefs just sat on the front steps. He had his forehead in his palm, silent. In the crook of his arm, he was holding Trunks. The baby was also silent.

Bulma didn’t speak.

Gohan built the pyres. 

Yamcha, Krillin, Tien, Chaotsu, Piccolo and Vegeta. One by one they burned the remains. Gohan felt numb by that point. His entire life was focused so much on death. This was the largest death within the group, definitely. It felt very final. 

There were no dragonballs. The others would now rest. And for every time they’d saved Gohan—he would now work to avenge them. 

He would become a super saiyan like his father, like Prince Vegeta, and when Trunks got older—maybe he would too and they would save the world, just like their fathers—

 

 

Jaida opened her eyes, tensing a little. She sat up, scrubbing at her eyes.

At the fireplace, Trunks was sitting up and awake. He was just watching the flames. “You were dreaming,” he said softly to the fire.

“Yeah,” she murmured softly, swallowing hard. 

An explosion shook the house to its foundations. Both of them were up in a flash, dashing to the window. A bright light lit up the western half of the city and they both felt the flares of distress. 

“No…” Trunks became a super saiyan in a heartbeat, shooting out the window.

“Trunks!” Jaida screamed after him but the half-saiyan didn’t look back.

She raced outside to her motorcycle and took off towards Capsule Corp.

 

 

Videl was outside, still working, when the first blast rained down overhead. One of the domes burst apart, chunks of concrete flying everywhere. Above, she saw Eighteen. Videl growled, firing up into the air. 

“Oh, if it isn’t the pet project,” Eighteen simpered. “Up here to throw your life away, Videl? Hmm. Why does this feel familiar?”

“Mother _fucker_.” Videl’s eyes were blown wide and dark, sinking into rage. 

“Awww, this _is_ happening again.” Eighteen laughed, winking at her.

There was a loud _boom_ that echoed below and a dart of light _slammed_ into Eighteen’s gut. The cyborg jerked and touched the raw burn across her thigh and hip. She looked down immediately, spotting Mai on the ground with some kind of rifle.

Videl followed her gaze and startled. “Mai! Go get Bulma and run! Hurry!”

“Fuck that,” Mai snarled, pulling back the slide on the rifle. “Eat it, you cyborg cunt!”

Eighteen had to dodge, which was a nice change of pace. Seventeen appeared in a twinkling, as if his sister had summoned him from the shadows. “They throwing eggs at you, sis?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eighteen pointed down at Mai. “You’re on kid detail today.”

“What? Oh come _on_.”

“No,” Eighteen said, smirking. She folded her arms. “Seems the grown up women need to talk.”

Videl grinned, showing her teeth

“Ah, that’s all you then. Have fun, ladies.” Seventeen blasted off.

Mai took off at a dead run, throwing the rifle over her shoulder and pulling out a blaster. She dodged out of the compound and sprinted across the street. She could almost feel the shake of power as Seventeen blazed after her. Two office buildings met their non-timely ends. Mai sprinted across a smaller street just as—

“Mai?! What’s going on!” Jaida was at the corner of the opposite block. She revved her motorcycle.

“No!” Mai screamed it, waving an arm to ward her away.

Seventeen stopped above her. “Aw, why’d you stop! You were doing so _good_. It’s Mai, isn’t it? Haven’t I seen you before? You know, I think I have—”

And then a dark shape blurred by and Mai was gone.

For a second, Seventeen just stared at the empty space. Then he chuckled. Humans were awesome sometimes. He turned to follow.

A seamless execution of teamwork, Mai had to admit as Jaida had turned the bike and blasted towards her. Mai felt the touch in her mind that told her when to jump and Mai felt her truthful energy and instinctively _trusted_ because it somehow felt _familiar_ \--

And so she jumped, felt Jaida latch into her presence and pull her body after her. Mai felt the other woman’s arm swing out to brace her as she secured herself on the back of the motorcycle and they were blurring away.

“Where are we going?!” Jaida yelled back.

“Uh-uh-uh—LEFT!”

The bike turned, Mai instinctively forced her energy to her side to cushion them if they fell. They didn’t. Dirt and debris flew up after them as Jaida slid around the corner and gunned the gas.

“Where is Trunks! Go RIGHT!”

“He took off from the window! I couldn’t follow him. Did they attack Capsule Corp!”

“Yes! Keep going straight! This will take us to the border wall!”

“Where’s Salt!”

Mai blinked. “What!”

“Where’s Eighteen!” 

“Oh—that—you call her 'Salt'?”

“Well—yeah! Cause she’s blond. You know? Salt and Pepper and—where the fuck—do we know where Eighteen is or not?!”

“She’s going to fight Videl!”

Jaida jerked and nearly wrecked the motorcycle. She heard the witch shriek: _”WHAT?!”_ And then, “Oh shit! Ohshit! Oshit!”

“Ohshit--!” Mai screamed out in warning.

No time as Seventeen slammed into them from Jaida’s blind left side. Mai immediately pulled her legs up, but felt something tear apart in Jaida’s side--and then the motorcycle flipped them all. Mai felt darkness, stunned as she struggled to get her bearings. Her vision gradually sharpened, head lolling to the side. 

Seventeen was standing over Jaida, saying—

“—something about—“

“—all those times and all you could think about—“

“The goddamn kid and—“

“What is that? Something—ow—what the fuck—“

Her vision blurred at some sort of faint green glow and then sharpened again. Seventeen tried to blast it away.

“That’s _not_ my name! Get out of my _head!”_ And then more firing.

Then silence. Mai kept trying to move. Trying to will her body up. But it didn’t. She couldn’t seem to make her legs and arms do anything. Was she even breathing? 

Seventeen knelt beside her. “I know about you—like I was saying earlier—you’re Mai, right? One of the Pilaf Gang? Gero had all kinds of information on Goku’s enemies too. I think you might be the wrong age though, if you’re Mai.”

Mai thought she blinked at him. “What?” She said, faint and confused.

“You should be in your forties. But you’re not. You’re about…let me guess: seventeen? The age, not me. Duh.”

Mai stared at him, nonplussed.

“You used the dragonballs, didn’t you? You were the one that got the last wish before Piccolo died?”

_Piccolo._

_The last wish, the dragon. Dragonballs turned to stone. Was once a woman, suddenly a baby. Helpless. Helpless and screaming because I was trapped in this body and the longer I was there the more I lost myself—_

Seventeen’s eyebrows went up when her eyes glazed over in realization. “Ah, you didn’t remember, huh? Until about right now? That’s kind of a mindfuck to throw at you, I know. Dick move, even for me. I mean, I just wrecked your motorcycle and gave your psychic a couple more holes to see out of and now it’s your turn but fuck, your back is broken. I mean, at this point it would be like smooshing a bug into the concrete when it’s already dying in the hot sun. Hardly fair. And maybe I just wanna chat, you know. You’re a pretty girl, we’ve both committed murder—so we already have something in common.” 

_Oh my god._

Mai trembled, trying to strangle the horrified whimper that clawed its way out from her throat.

“I know, right. What a _mindfuck._ ” Seventeen sat down on some rubble beside her prone body. “Like, the kid—she just told me my name. Like, my name isn’t Seventeen. It’s what the Doc assigned me. She said it’s _Lapis_ and then she _showed_ it to me. And now I’m not sure if I remember it for real or if she put it there. It’s so weird. Right?”

 _Huh, yeah, it is._

“You can’t really answer, it's okay. I understand. Your back is broken, by the way. That’s why you can’t move.”

_Holy shit._

“Ah, you can hear me. Good. I think you just went _more_ pale.” Seventeen carried on talking. “So, your boss hated Goku and my boss hated Goku. I don’t a _shit_ about Goku. He died before Doctor Fuckface woke us up. So essentially, him throwing us into the world was just him throwing a temper tantrum because Goku died or whatever and he didn’t get to be the one to do it. So then Eighteen kills him—man, I’m glad she killed him—and she goes all murder-rage because we’ve been trapped for so long and now with all these thoughts about this _asshole_ who died six months before he woke us up! I’ve never even _met_ the guy! Gero used to keep us in _stasis_.” Seventeen sighed deeply, looking up at the stars again. “You know…I used to know all the names of the constellations.”

Mai stared at him, stunned into silence. Or maybe it was the bloodloss. She wasn't really sure anymore.

“It was how we found our way around. The stars don’t move, you know. We do. So they have a pattern and we follow it. But of all the stupid things I can remember about fucking Son Goku or Goku Son or whatever—I can’t remember how to find Capricorn. It should be simple. But I can’t find it. Doc put lots of maps in my head. But no star charts. And I can’t remember how to use one. Every night the stars feel like they’re in totally different places.” Seventeen huffed and shook his head. “But they’re not. I _know_ they’re not.”

Mai felt her throat expand, swallow and take a breath. “That’s disorienting,” she had to agree, voice quiet and slurred, blood bubbled up between her teeth.

“Thank you, you know. Thanks.” Seventeen ran his fingers through his hair. He looked down when she didn’t answer. 

Mai saw him move but could no longer respond. She felt like she was floating, like she was smoking the finest South City hash and got the flood of warmth and comfort and the urge to close your eyes and let go of all the pain and suffering and death for just a moment, rest your eyes—

And then Seventeen reached down to her.

 

 

 

“Aren’t you all riled up today?” Eighteen beamed. “All right, I’ll give you a free one. Show me what you’ve got, Videl.”

They were five hundred feet into the air. 

Videl nodded politely. “All right. Thank you.”

“Hard as you can,” Eighteen said, cool and smirking. “Winner gets to _not_ plummet to their deaths.”

Videl grabbed into the threads, they burned amber gold in her hands, coming together in a bundle, a knot as she pulled her hands farther apart. The air rippled to replace itself. A blur of dark electric energy grew in front of her, sucking in light and air and sound.

The strangest part was that Eighteen couldn’t feel it. The back of her neck prickled. She snorted, ignoring it. Videl was weak. All the humans were. The only one who wasn’t was Trunks. And if today went as planned, he wouldn’t be around to see his eighteenth birthday.

He’d have to settle for her.

“I haven’t got all day! Come on!” Eighteen called over. Then she laughed. "Well, I guess, actually, I do."

Videl took a deep breath and lifted the orb into the air. With her other hand, she warped the gravity around, instinctively changed the magnetic fields, slipping between them like a radio dial. It fired—and as it was constructed from gravity, it had no air resistance. It crossed to Eighteen faster than light. She moved, shifting to slam her palm into it.

It jumped into the cyborg's hand, latching into her gravity, into the _metal_ under her skin. Eighteen cried out in surprise. “What the—!” The orb formed into a ring around her slender, perfect wrist. She swung her hand, trying to dislodge it. It shot around and then _down_ , dragging her with it, picking up speed. Five hundred feet was a lot closer at this speed.

Or well, she supposed, it really wasn’t.

Videl felt a bundle of hysterical laughter try to seize her throat. She managed a few weak snorts and then breathed deep. “Holy shit, I can’t believe that might…have maybe worked?”

She floated down in starts and stops, collapsing onto the dirt. There was a massive crater from the impact. Eighteen was in the bottom of it, on her feet and pulling against the black band on her wrist. She snarled when she tried to fly and got jerked down again by the orb. “Oh, you little _bitch!”_

Videl met her gaze at the crater’s rim. Eighteen tried to run and the orb jerked her back again. It was still trying to get down into the earth. She didn’t have a lot of time before Eighteen would be able to break the band. It would disintegrate the deeper into the earth it went. Trying to reach the planet’s core. Because it was a giant ball of fucking iron. And gravity worked like magnets. 

(“Like postman to the back door,” Roshi had said. Bulma had snorted into her tea and swore at him, even as she was struggling not to laugh.)

But Videl couldn’t seem to help but watch for a moment as Eighteen flailed and struggled.

“You should see _you_ right now,” Videl told her. She took out her cell phone to record a few seconds. 

Eighteen’s eyes flared and her energy _roared_ and she braced herself to sprint against the pull of the gravity.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Videl pulled another knot in. It was harder to focus with Eighteen slowly but steadily advancing against the magnetic orb but if she didn’t, the cyborg would _definitely_ kill her.

This one was bigger. Eighteen started swearing, trying to pull on every direction away from the band—but she was too slow. The band whipped right into the larger gravity orb and Eighteen found her hands latched together. The field rippled around the cyborg as she pulsed power against it. The dirt and foundations exploded around her, an old water main broke open like a ruptured bone. Red eyes peeked out of the exposed sewer. 

The cyborg pulsed again—blowing apart another full crater of cityscape. 

Since she was in the air and the orb was magnetic, it yanked her down the open twenty feet below her, slamming her through an old sewer and into a wall.

Trunks suddenly appeared above them. “Videl! Are you okay!”

Videl nodded. “There’s Eighteen,” she said, pointing down. “Check it out.”

Trunks looked over the edge and started. “What the—what’s wrong with her?”

“It’s gravity,” Videl said. 

“Uh, _what?”_

“You know how the ham radios have channels and then inbetween frequencies?”

“Yeah,” Trunks nodded, still shifting nervously as Eighteen’s power flared—she must have seen him.

“And then even between frequencies, there are _other_ frequencies.”

“Yeah. Like what Jaida uses for the radio near the gate.”

“That right there, is like _other frequency_ energy. Also, it’s like magnets, so it’s going to break apart the farther down she goes. So we don’t have a lot of time before it frees her and I don’t know how many times I can do this—because I just figured it out. What are we gonna do?”

“Where’s Seventeen?”

“He went after Mai.”

Trunks stared at her. “Oh no.”

“Go after them—“

“Wait,” Trunks said. Suddenly, he turned around and drew his sword. “Can you put that _other_ energy on the edge of my sword?”

Videl’s eyes lit up. “I bet I could.”

Trunks drew it. Videl leaned over it and withdrew the knot as close to the edge as she could, forcing her will upon it, to mold it to the edge.

“Holy shit,” Trunks murmured, feeling the weight instantly change. 

“Trunks?”

“Go,” said the super saiyan. He readied his sword. “Just in case this doesn’t work.”

Videl stared at him. “All right. I’ll try to trap Seventeen!”

A flutter of _hope_ went through her. 

_Please let him be strong enough._

He lanced his own energy through the sword, balancing it out. It was like a puzzle piece suddenly turning to fit together. Natural opposites of energy, coming together—

He flashed down to Eighteen and swung the blade right at her exposed head—

Her arm came up and they both stared for a moment in stunned shock as his sword bit through her flesh and into the metal and tissue beyond. Two full inches in. Eighteen’s arm sparked, blood flooding up from the wound. She stared at him like she’d never seen him before. 

Something strange went through her eyes. “You’ve done it now, kid.” Her voice was completely calm, quiet.

Given that was how Bulma and Chi-Chi talked when you’d _really_ stepped out of line, he knew to back away but even if he hadn’t, Eighteen’s eyes looked strange and wide and empty. A crystalline diamond blue, dead aquamarines.

Dead.

_Like me. Because she blocked. If she hadn’t blocked, I’d have—_

The sword was flung away. 

_I was so close._

Her fist slammed into his throat, her knee met his stomach and she slammed him into a heavy steel pipe, coated in rust and filth. 

_Why didn’t I attack from behind? I missed._

The side of his head met a pointed tip of steel. He felt the bone in his skull chip, then snap and he blasted out as much power as he could before she scrambled his goddamn brains like someone getting mummified.

_(“Mummies had hot pokers shoved up their noses, Trunks. Not through the temple.”)_

“You knew all kinds of useless trivia,” Trunks murmured to himself as he pushed himself up—

Eighteen smashed into him from above, pinning him in mud and dirt. “Oh Trunks. I tried to warn you.” 

“I should have remembered to make it not-boring.”

“Oh, finally snapped, huh?” Eighteen asked him, kneeling over him in the dirt. “You sound kinda crazy right now, Trunks.”

“What do you get out of this?” Trunks replied, looking up at her. She was so pretty, so terrifyingly perfect. “Goku is dead.”

“Oh, Trunks—do you know how many times I’ve been asked that?”

“How many times did you actually consider an answer? That maybe there’s no _reason_ to—”

“None.” She hit him in the chest. Her energy _pulsed_ through him, smashing the earth apart. 

And then suddenly, she wasn’t.

Eighteen stood in front of a small shop. She was dirty, bloody, fingernails scratched and mangled. Her arms hurt. It was strange though, the shop stood on a lonely stretch of desert highway. The windows had a faint film of dust over the glass but she could see her reflection. She seemed shorter.

And then she saw Seventeen inside the shop. She hurried away from the window, hiding around the corner and pulling out two switchblades. The men holding Seventeen (he was shorter too), shoved the child forward. “Where is she?!” He demanded, stumbling. “What’d you do with Lazuli! I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking _kill_ you!”

There were two men. One of them was holding bottles of soda pop. The other shoved her brother towards the gas pumps. It took both of them to wrangle her brother into the car.

“Inod wanted to fuck the girl before we get to Gero’s. She’s a fast little devil. Gero will like these two, I think. Lots of spirit. This might help break the girl, anyway.” 

Inod. Lazuli looked over her shoulder. The man they called Inod was dead, a small stolen knife jutting from his throat. She bristled.

The two men stood by the car, talking about Inod, donning their shades in the bright desert sun. They looked out towards the dunes. Of course, they assumed she wouldn’t fight like a goddamn demon to murder Inod before he touched her. Because they were assholes.

Lazuli slipped up behind them like a ghost. She flicked the switchblades and took a deep breath before she slid around the gas pumps, dropped behind the two men and slashed their tendons. They both cried out and staggered. She got between them, slashing their other ankles, right above the heel. Hobbled, they crashed to the concrete. One had a stun gun. He’d used it on her repeatedly. She slashed his wrist when he grabbed for her, snatching up the device. She shocked him in the throat, then the chest, then his cock. He didn’t move after that. 

She looked at the second man.

“Don’t—kid—I’ll help you—“

She shocked him in the eyeballs and then shoved her fingers into them and scrambled them about. The girl dug out their keys and released her brother. She gave him one of her knives and they pounced on the two men. For a few moments, the two of them didn’t seem to know what to say. The men were dead. They had a car and a full tank of gas. They were thirteen. She and Lapis had stolen enough cars that they ought to be fine. At least long enough to get out of this stupid desert. 

They got snacks from the gas station. The attendants were already dead. Gero’s men had made short work of them. So they loaded up the car, got some ice cream from the freezer, looted Gero’s men of everything they had (about twenty thousand zeni in twenties and fifties, a wedding band, a half salt shaker full of cocaine, three packs of cigarettes, two stolen credit cards, a couple of folders with their names and estimated ages and other things she already knew, three cell phones and three packs of Antelope Gum, which they briefly fought over before splitting them evenly between them) and then Lazuli was getting in driver’s seat. 

She tapped the GPS. “Hey, we wanna go north. To, uh….”

Lapis dug around in the glove compartment until he found a map. He leaned out of the car as night fell at the silent, dead, gas station. The stars confirmed his estimation of their location. And Lazuli ran her finger along the highway. “Ember—it has hot springs. Wanna go?”

“Let’s do it,” Lapis said, closing the passenger door and digging out another fudge bar.

Boy, when Gero caught up with them—he let them know how much he hadn’t appreciated them killing his grunts. And getting ice cream on the leather seats. He had shoved the pins under her fingernails—making Lapis _watch_ the whole thing—

And then Seventeen reached for her.

 

 

 

He was like a bullet. He landed long enough to grab Eighteen and then he shot off into the sky. Trunks couldn’t feel anything. He could barely see. His entire left side felt like it was on fire. Stabbing and blaring into his eyes. Like the worst migraine he’d ever had times a thousand. He was soaked in blood. 

Videl landed by his side a moment later. “Trunks?” She asked, shaky, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”

Trunks couldn’t seem to make his brain understand. Something was wrong. He couldn’t understand what she was saying. 

And then Baba floated up, words sharp and commanding. The old woman flooded him with energy, pushing his body to regenerate cells quickly. He couldn’t really feel it—his head was numb, paralyzed with stabbing pain in his temple. He felt his jaw shift—ah, Eighteen must have broken it. He gradually became more alert. 

Words started to make sense again. 

But his head just stabbed and throbbed with pain. It was hard to swallow. He felt other wounds and breaks mend themselves. It was sure nice having Baba around now for the times he nearly died. But his head was stabbing with pin sharp pain and he couldn’t keep his eyes open to light. 

That was the line. Bulma laid down the law. “Trunks is on bedrest and if anyone else feels like fighting cyborgs, then _they_ can do it but don’t expect Trunks to save you. He needs to recover! It seems like he just manages to get better and then he’s blasting off to God knows where and I don’t know if I’ll ever fucking _see_ him again—“

“Okay, Bulma.” Chi-Chi stepped in, patting her friend. She turned her towards the house, continuing to rant herself into angry tears that were more directed at her own helplessness than anything or anyone else.

Lancer and Hazard appeared, Mai and Jaida were following. The two young women didn’t appear to be badly hurt and they exchanged uncertain glances when Videl asked what happened.

“He healed me,” Mai said quietly. 

Videl blinked. “He what?”

“He _healed_ you?” Yajirobi stared at her. “The _cyborg_ did? Why the hell would he do that? _How_ did he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Mai said quietly. “He seemed…somehow bothered. He said you showed him something.” She glanced at Jaida. 

“I touched his mind and I told him his real name.”

“And that threw him off-guard enough that you were able to slip into his memories?” Baba said, matter-of-factly.

“I suppose so,” Jaida said, looking a bit shellshocked. “Then when Videl appeared, he flew away. What happened to Eighteen?”

“New technique I developed to keep her on the ground. I pinned her there and went to hold off Seventeen and give Trunks time to work at Eighteen. We got too caught up in possible victory. I should have stayed to make sure she would stay down. We got close tonight and then we got ahead of ourselves. Next time, we can’t fuck it up. Separating the twins is the first step to beating them. If we can keep them apart, we can focus on one at a time. Because when they pair up—that’s when they’re the most dangerous.”

“My sword went into her arm,” Trunks said softly, sitting up against a concrete wall. “Two inches, at least. It actually penetrated. I think because of gravity, Videl. If I’d been faster, I would have hit her head but she blocked with her arm. You should have seen the look of surprise. From both of us.”

“Ha, I wish all of you could have seen Eighteen flailing around on the ground like a crazy chicken because the gravity orb kept her pinned to the dirt by one wrist.”

Jaida managed a snort. Trunks smiled a little. “I’ll hope for a next time,” the half-saiyan said.

“Oh yes. There will be a next time. Definitely.”

“Just not until Trunks is off bedrest. Or Bulma might kill you,” Lancer said and winked. 

 

 

 

By the time Trunks could look into daylight without getting horrible burning pain in his head, a month had passed. The time machine was ready to make another trip.


	15. Butterfly Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music for Trunks/Jaida:  
> Obscure You Deserve by the dark ambient masters, Cryo Chamber: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsFAVNzFPEo  
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
> He’d been shorter last time, he suddenly realized. They’d been head to head six months ago. And now he was two inches taller. 
> 
> Bulma wiped her eyes briskly when they parted. “If Vegeta….well. Be yourself. But don’t let him push you around. And he _will_ try.”
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bulma took a deep breath. She looked at them all. They were young. A crew of both new friends and old friends. Draw together by her son. 

_Ha, maybe he really is like Goku._

For the present, however, the only thing they had alike was them lying down in the dark. Trunks _seemed_ all right, physically. His wounds had healed but where Eighteen had driven his skull into the splintered metal piping…he got these spells of dizziness or saw lights in the corners of his eyes or he would get blindingly sharp pain at the point of impact. Bulma could look at his chart (several inches thick) and conclude with a clinical glance that the phantom pains were likely connected to post-traumatic stress disorder, severe anxiety and then throw the chaotic saiyan blood in there and you’ve got a ticking spirit bomb. (Literally.) 

But as his mother, she saw only what she had done to him when she put him on this path of being anyone’s goddamn hope. Fuck them all, watching him suffer like this tore her apart in places she hadn’t known existed. But he would never give it up. Not now. And that was almost worse.

“Bulma?” Mai asked her, gently.

“Trunks is testing his eyes, so I wanted to talk to all of you while he’s busy.” Bulma took a fortifying breath. “Look, I was scared to death to send him into the past. We didn’t know what would happen and I was sending my son out there. And he went. Without complaint. It’s almost unnatural. He’s hurt but he knows the time machine is ready. He wants to go. And I don’t….” Bulma shook her head to herself. 

“Bulma…” Videl said, looking almost reproachful. “You can’t take this from him _now_.”

“It doesn’t _have_ to be him,” Bulma suggested, trying to keep her tone from wavering. 

“He’d probably go even if you told him that,” Jaida said softly. 

Bulma deflated a little, putting her forehead in her palms. “He doesn’t listen to me. But he’s just so damn polite about it. I can’t punish him for being reasonable! Dammit, Bulma.”

Videl chuckled. “He knows how to play you, Bulma. Because if he didn’t, he’d be a momma’s boy.”

“He is!” Bulma insisted.

“Exactly, Bulma,” Videl said and grinned, giving her an exaggerated wink. “Exactly.”

“Oh shit, oh shit….” Bulma touched her cheeks. “He’s me! Oh _shit!"_

Chi-Chi burst out laughing. “I feel bad for Past You, suddenly.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Bulma commanded, grumbling. 

“Damn, that was _dark,_ Chi-Chi,” Yajirobi sniggered into his mug. 

“Bulma…” Jaida looked down when the scientist looked at her. “I…the time machine gave him a choice and he made it. Unless he chooses not to, himself. You can present him with the option. I could go, in his place. But I doubt he would take it. Trunks hates running from a fight almost as much as he hates cyborgs. He now has the chance to learn from these huge figures that you’ve told him about. And…the biggest one, who you _wouldn’t_ talk about.”

“Vegeta,” Bulma said quietly. She looked away.

“He needs this. And more than that….” Jaida looked away. “He…wants it. I think. It’s…well. It’s a pretty tall order adventure. How many people can say they traveled to another time? Just one. And he only got a taste—this time, he’ll get to see the consequences. For good or ill.”

“ _That’s_ the _me_ -side of him,” Bulma pointed out, making a face at Chi-Chi. “So _your_ husband better not get him into something suicidal. I mean—what could be worse than the cyborgs, yeah—but if _somebody_ is gonna jinx it, it’s gonna be Goku.”

Chi-Chi sniffed. “All least Goku could clean up his messes.”

Everyone glanced at each other around the table, going quiet. 

Bulma lifted her eyes to Chi-Chi. “At least Vegeta was around long enough to _make_ a mess.”

“Well, I think I hear Trunks—Videl, Mai, let’s talk later about encasing energy in metal? Okay, bye!” Jaida hurried out of the room.

“Okay. Guys,” Videl said, putting a palm out between them. She laughed a little nervously. “Come on, now. We’re in the same boat here. Everybody is stubborn and we all have big personalities. That’s so awesome. Okay. So let’s take it down a notch. Deep breath. Both of your husbands—”

“We _weren’t_ married,” Bulma corrected, choking on a disbelieving laugh. 

“Just imagining Vegeta getting married is hilarious.” Chi-Chi scoffed.

“At least Vegeta knew what marriage _was_.”

“I’m sorry, _who_ is your son going back to see?”

 _Whoa_. “Okay, both of the…guys that you…made kids with—oh my god, seriously. They were both big and bad and awesome and ass-kickers and we’re all so proud of them. Okay?”

Bulma snorted. Chi-Chi crossed her arms.

“Shake on it, you _stubborn_ bitches,” Videl commanded.

Roshi, Puar, Yajirobi and Oolong all paused, then swiftly grabbed their drinks so they could vacate the premises. 

Bulma and Chi-Chi both looked at her.

Videl held her ground, raising her eyebrows. 

Chi-Chi sighed. “Is that what we sound like?”

“ _Yeah_ , it is,” Videl said flatly. “Trunks is about to go into the past. Again. So no more bickering until he goes. He’s gonna be stressed enough without you two freaking out.”

“We’ve seen this—“

“I know, Chi-Chi. I know,” Videl said, voice blunt. “That’s why you two just need to shut up sometimes. Don’t tell us about the high probability of failure when we’ve already thrown in a hundred and ten percent. Tell us what we need for the best possible chance and _we_ will play the goddamn odds.”

“I’m just being realistic—“

“Then bicker outside. We don’t need a tit measuring contest over two dead saiyans. We’ve got one _here_ that needs our help.”

Both of them jerked, glancing at each other a little guiltily. 

“Though if you still wanna know who has the bigger tits—I could tell you—“

“Roshi, if you talk to me like that again, I will break your jaw,” Chi-Chi snapped, glaring at the old man from where his head was peeking into the room. 

Videl took a deep breath, watching the hackles come down from both older women. “All right. Are we good? Good.” 

 

 

 

Trunks was still resting in the dark of his own room. He felt Jaida approach and slip inside. She sat down on the edge of his bed. “Trunks?”

He looked over at her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hard to sleep. I think my eyes are okay—I suppose they just needed some rest.”

“You do push yourself kind of hard, Trunks.”

“No way?” Trunks asked softly, smiling a little.

Jaida traced her fingers along the ridge of his brow. “How do you feel? Wanna see the ocean?” 

Trunks sat up and pulled on his t-shirt. “Yeah.” He was more forward about just stepping into her space, putting an arm around her and flying out the window. He felt her nose touch his warm shoulder, breathing in his scent. 

He landed at the mouth of a small cave of hotsprings near the opening of a waterfall. He and Gohan had trained here a time or twelve. Jaida stretched in the moonlight before creating a little ball of flame to light their lanterns. 

They sat down near the cave mouth. 

“Are you scared?” Jaida asked Trunks.

He looked down at his knees, rubbing his fingers in his hair. “Yeah. I guess I’d be an idiot if I wasn’t.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. Jaida lifted a hand more carefully as she leaned in, placing her palm on his spine in what she hoped was a comforting sort of way. “What did it feel like, the first time?”

“Weird. I remember the glass closing and I was shaking,” Trunks said softly. “We didn’t know if it would work or if it would just turn me inside out. Constantly bracing yourself to die is…kind of exhausting. I remember colors and lights and then darkness. Everything was grey. And then it sort of…fades together or crosses or something. I felt odd…because…I guess I wasn’t…exactly where I was supposed to be? I mean. Their Trunks hadn’t been born yet.”

“Damn. So when you go back…uh…”

“Day after tomorrow,” Trunks said. “I was gonna leave in the morning but Mom refused.”

“I wonder if you’ll be able to…sense yourself.”

“I dunno. Hopefully both of us existing in the same timeline won’t blow up the universe or anything.”

“I guess they’ll have to change the, ‘Blank Days Since Universe Implosion’ back to zero.”

“I wonder if that’s covered under a family insurance plan.” Trunks was quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful before he glanced sidelong at her. “Jaida—did you have any family? I mean, I just realized I don’t actually know much about you. Besides the basics.”

“They’re all gone,” she answered, shrugging. “Just like lots of peoples’ families.”

“Well, if you don’t mind—what was your mom like?”

Jaida looked down at her knees. “Um. Well. She had blonde hair and brown eyes. She was smart as a whip—much smarter than me. She taught me about munitions—because she was military. And when the cyborgs destroyed everything they threw at them—she took me and bailed. I was just a baby then—she said it was hard—traveling with an infant while avoiding gangs and sickness and the Twins—with nowhere safe to go. It sounded pretty terrible.”

Jaida shifted awkwardly and glanced at him, as if to check that he wasn’t looking bored and annoyed. Trunks encouraged her with a small nod. 

“Um. Well—we were staying at Eaglehound air base. The cyborgs suddenly showed up. There was a small group of former military that had hid out in the base. They even had a little school put together to teach us kids how to read. They struck very suddenly—out of nowhere.” She folded her ankle up to her opposite knee. “Mom was outside near the airfield. One of the bots hit a fighter jet—and it crushed. Her. My mom, I mean. It crushed her.” She took in a deep breath and looked away, not meeting Trunks’ eyes. “I found her afterwards. There was nothing left for me at the base. And without adults around—it would be hard to defend. And not all the adults who remained were good. Some of them were horrible. So I had to leave.”

“What about your dad?”

“Mom said he was killed in the initial fighting. I never knew him. All I’d guess is that he had auburn hair—like me. Since my mom was blonde.”

“Did you have any siblings?”

Jaida shrugged. “Not that I know of. Not when I was traveling with her, anyway.”

“Where did you go after she died?”

Jaida glanced at him and then away. “Well, I…traveled for awhile. Walked around a lot. Once I figured out that she was dead…I….well, we’d been running my whole life. Just like you. So I guess I wasn’t really surprised. I remember being sad. But…I had to secure supplies and lock myself in our room for almost two days until the fighting stopped.”

“The cyborgs poached a base for two days?”

“Well, they were the first day. The second day—the smoke and gunfire had attracted a group of raiders. They were quick to do a sweep and loot the place. They found me. And at first, they just ignored me but someone seemed to remember I was around when I found my mom’s stuff so I could at least burn her remains. They wanted me to go with them. I was a kid—and I was afraid they would force me to if I hesitated—so I ran away in the middle of the night.”

“I didn’t know it was so bad—I mean…I did but…I mostly saw the cyborg part of it.”

“Yeah, I guess—Videl, Mai and I saw more of the….ground-level aftermath. The cyborgs are a threat to everyone. So they’re the priority. But if you lived close to a city, you had to be careful about getting involved with the local crime lords. It’s straight up Grand Theft Auto in some of those places. Mercury Park is a warzone. Restoring order to those places will be difficult.”

“Did you live near one?” 

Jaida shifted uncomfortably again. “Yes. I did.”

“Not willingly, I take it.”

Her shoulders curled in. “No. Not willingly.”

“What happened?” His voice was low, rumbling and soft. Not pushing, just asking, prompting. 

“I was…” Jaida looked away and for a moment, Trunks was sure she wasn’t going to speak, then she did, “…traveling by night on Highway 270 South out of Schoolcraft. A car came up the road and I didn’t jump off to the shoulder fast enough. With their headlights on, they saw my shadow and jumped out. They chased me into a corn field and made me go with them.“

“Why? Who were they?”

“Just some local assholes. Kids are easy targets. They’re small. And a lot of their parents are dead. They saw me and they work for someone who sells kids. So they took me with them. A lot of bad things happened after that.” She shrugged again, staring down at her knees. “But eventually, I escaped. I made it to Martinsand and holed up there.”

Trunks studied her for a moment. She’d been so kind to him, so eager to help and to learn. And sometimes he felt like he wanted to do things he couldn’t really put into words. But watching how she was tight as a guitar string, defensive and guarded….her aura was choked and quiet. She liked touching his hair, he'd noticed. Not for the texture or color or anything, it seemed. It just seemed to be how she tried to comfort him. She wasn’t very good with words—the byproduct of living alone for a long time—but neither was Trunks. Being able to read auras helped him understand what she felt. 

And also, just paying attention. 

It was different from when he’d gotten attention from the few girls and women he’d met that weren’t friends of his mother. Not all women were gentle. Not all women were kind. Not all women were as intense as Bulma and Chi-Chi. Because women were three-dimensional beings just like everyone else. Jaida and Videl were alike in how they worked hard to try to hide their feelings. But when it was just the two of them, the difference was rather stark. In private, Jaida became gentler, swore less—let the armor down, he supposed. 

That was how people got to know each other, right?

The point was, she felt like his friend. And also…uh….something more too. Neither of them were really sure—and Jaida had been open about simply discussing it instead of worrying like some dumb romantic comedy. He liked that about her—she was pretty blunt most of the time. But she wasn’t as demanding as Bulma and Chi-Chi. She wasn’t much of a fighter (yet) but either Baba had the most apt luck in choosing a random student or this had been Baba’s plan from the beginning. He’d been working with her on staff fighting and her crossbow. But it seemed like, lately, they just wanted to sit quietly and enjoy being alive. Death was always so close. 

He’d woken up time and again over the last month—saw Jaida in his room, changing blankets, getting water, running a cool, damp rag over his face. She hooked up a fan when she noticed he was sweating. And she would rest in an armchair near the bed. His mother had seemed both exasperated by it, but also bemused. In any case, Bulma hadn’t made her leave. She was there when his head would suddenly roar. He felt like he was splitting in half when the stabbing pain would come. He couldn’t see out of his right eye when it lanced through him. He kept dreaming about Eighteen breaking through the bone and smashing his jaw and hearing his teeth break apart—

Bits of bone peppered the blood in his mouth—

And then he opened his eyes and Jaida was sitting beside him. She offered him a moonshine-soaked rag. He bit into it without question, sucking hard at the fiery alcohol. Anything to get the feeling of swallowing chips of his teeth out of his head.

She stroked his hair. Unable to offer anything else, she gave the only thing she could. Kindness. A soothing touch, different from his mother. It seemed…unexpectedly gentle. And yet…also not. Like himself, he supposed. Trunks was a killer, yes. But animals had approached him during his meditation yesterday. His mother said only old souls could attract animals. Because they could see what you really were inside. Trunks didn’t know if that was true—but he was willing to try to focus on remembering kindness. He didn’t want to become jaded, like Gohan was. 

His mother called him a pessimist. Trunks called it realistic. 

There was a high chance of failure but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t go. And Videl’s new technique showed some promise—if he did die. 

He supposed they would know in three days whether he was successful or not. He wouldn’t know in three days. But they would.

That was weird.

He rubbed his hand down his face restlessly and then grabbed a notepad. “Let’s make a list of things that I can try to bring back for us.”

Jaida nodded, glad for the distraction. She scooted up next to him and leaned her temple on his shoulder. “The sequel to that book,” she said, watching him note it down in small, cramped letters.

 

 

 

“The coordinates to the Lookout,” Baba said, floating above their heads at the window.

“Sensu beans,” Bulma suggested at the dining room table. 

“Seriously,” Yajirobi grunted.

“Wait—don’t _you_ know where the lookout is?” Chi-Chi asked.

“I’ve been to Korin’s—yeah—but I never flew there myself. It’s been almost twenty years. And I was there when Korin died…” The samurai looked away.

“Tell the other me that I need his issues of _Flagged_ \--“

“I’m _not_ asking after porn for you,” Trunks told Roshi flatly.

“Can you ask Other-Me for a few tools?” Bulma said, leaning over his notepad. “I could really use a spare dragon radar and an amplification processor—“

“Okay, you write those down so Past You will understand,” Trunks said, pushing the notepad over to his mother and watching her furiously scribble some notes.

Mai shifted uncertainly. “Um…Seventeen told me some things…about who I was in the past. If I could know more….I’d like to. No matter what it is. If I was Goku's enemy, then I need to come to terms with it.”

Trunks looked at Mai, feeling sorry for her. To abruptly get told about your past like that, as Goku’s enemy, was a little overwhelming. And worse, Bulma and Chi-Chi had confirmed it. So it wasn’t just Seventeen being a prick. He nodded to her, meeting her quiet, calm eyes and then wrote a note down when his mother passed his notebook back.

“I suppose since I’d only be about eleven or so….I wouldn’t actually know any of you yet,” Videl said quietly, musing on that.

“Me neither...I mean…I’d be a baby,” Jaida said.

“I’ll tell them to keep an eye out for you both,” Trunks said and half-smiled a little.

“I wonder if they can send some—oh!” Bulma interrupted herself, snapping her finger at Trunks. “Coordinates to New Namek—if they know. We never found out—but maybe they will? We’re looking for a Namekian named Dende. They'll know who that is.”

Trunks wrote that down. “Maybe Goku can teach me the Instant Transmission too. That would be helpful.”

“What’s wrong, Chi-Chi?” Oolong asked, looking sidelong at the human.

She was sitting quietly, hands folded tightly together. She looked up when the others turned their gazes to her. “I just…want to advise us to…not get our hopes up _too_ much. This will be when Trunks finds out what happens when you mess with time. Best case scenario is that everyone trained hard and the cyborgs stayed the same strength. So Trunks goes back, learns about how they did it and then returns. Let’s just….not get too ahead of ourselves. For all we know, something _worse_ will happen.”

“Let’s hope not,” Bulma muttered, looking at her hands instead of her son. If it did, after all, it would be her fault. She was the one who’d built the time machine. Trunks was just the pilot. If anything happened to him because of her—

“Mom,” Trunks said, suddenly sharp, raising his voice. She glanced up at his hard blue eyes. “It will be all right, Mom. I can handle it if something has gone wrong. It’s okay. And when I do come back—I’ll set the machine to come back to tomorrow—to make sure I don’t get crossed with any other selves or whatever.”

Bulma drug her palm through her hair. “Yeah…yeah…I…yeah…” She suddenly got up and headed out to the workshop to check the time machine again.

It was snowing. 

Lancer was standing in the shadows of the floodlight that Bulma had rigged underneath the vehicle. His cowboy hat cast a plateau through the lamp. She crossed her arms as she stood next to him.

“You’re a goddamn genius,” Lancer said quietly.

“I know,” Bulma said somberly, mouth a tight, anxious line and eyebrows furrowed. 

Lancer touched her shoulder. “We trust ya, Bulma.”

Bulma stiffened, looking up at Lancer. She managed a half-smile. “Sometimes, I wish you all didn’t.” She tensed when Lancer moved closer. The man stepped into her space, gently touching her arm and shoulder, guiding her to him and wrapping his arms firmly around her. He didn’t say anything. 

Bulma didn’t either. She just sobbed.

 

 

 

The snow continued all through the night. 

The next morning, it had piled up in short walls around West City. Videl was out early, clearing roads and paths using her Gravity Pull. It let her get some practice in for more precise aiming and grabbing. Also it made her focus instead of anxiously wandering the house like she had last night. When she felt Trunks return…she had to really fight herself not to go to him with last-minute suggestions of how to deal with the younger Gohan. Also, it felt like Jaida was with him and Trunks hardly got any privacy as it was. And they were likely each other’s first real brush with anything at all that might be considered intimate. Not that Videl had much experience herself (growing up in the warzone of the initial post-5/12 world) but she’d want privacy too. Or something. It was a challenge sometimes, dealing with Trunks. He seemed so much older in her head and he really was good-looking, he just didn’t seem to know it. And he was so humble and also stupidly innocent sometimes—

_Because he’s ten years younger than you, Videl_

Right. The urge was purely physical. Ask him something about other people and/or not related to combat and all his boyish seventeen-year-old-ness would come out and that would _instantly_ remind her of what it must feel like to have a dopey younger brother. She would murder anyone who wronged him—despite him being a foot taller than her and ridiculously strong. He didn’t need someone to protect him physically (from normal people, anyway), mostly he needed someone around to make sure he didn’t beat _himself_ up too much. Trunks was his own worst enemy (besides the cyborgs, of course). 

Videl shook herself. Dawn was finally breaking. She flew up into gently falling snow to watch it. No one had seen the cyborgs in over a month. Had they retreated to lick their wounds and contemplate on what had happened? Or were they simply somewhere too far away to get a broadcast through, butchering innocent people and painting the snow with their blood?

There was no way to know unless she planned to fly all over the world right now. That’d be kinda hard. She huffed a breath in the crystal-clear air and flew back to Capsule Corp. 

The time machine stood like an ominous monolith in the workshop. There was a fine fog misting over the window—Bulma must be already up and at work. She was constantly checking gauges and valves now. It had progressed steadily through the night. She went back to the workshop once, then twice—and then never left it. No one slept well.

 

 

Trunks woke up in his own bed. It was toasty warm. There was a bead of sweat running down from his side, inbetween where he was pressed up to her—

His grip unconsciously tightened on her at the hip and breast. Her energy looked different like this. Still asleep but not restless. It was calm. She was calm. Was it the saiyan half of him that noticed it? Or was it something biological to humans that made him feel weirdly proud of himself because she felt _safe_. Because she was _calm_. Because of him—

Pressing her down before she swallowed so he could meet her there, tasting both of them. Grabbing her by the back of the neck and pressing them together—

How she fought his shirt out of the way so she could _touch_ \--

And the wave of sensation that had moved through him was exactly like combat. All the instincts up and listening and shifting to each slight change in the scent and vibration of blood—except no intent to _hurt_. And no expectation of _being_ hurt. 

His eyes were blown wide and dark, taking in all things, all at once. It made everything instinctive. Until her fingers touched his hair, comforting, calming. She soothed him—

Was that because she was human?

—and murmured, “It’s all right…”

He shuddered, grabbing a fistful of her hair and burying his eyes in her shoulder. She cried out softly and her aura flared. It met his and it was strange how they shifted together. People _would_ connect their energy, he supposed. It. Well. 

It was startling, how _intimate_ it was. He could feel her heartbeat, erratic and strong. He could feel how much she _wanted_ but also how much she was _fighting_ it. It was new and different. Didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want to give in just yet—

_Make her give in. Make her want to give in._

The same rush flooded through him when she did. When her head tipped back and her eyes closed and breathing in deep, clenching around him in long, hard pulses that made his eyes unfocus and his shoulders curl up. She drew him down, gently compared to how his fingers were leaving bruises as he struggled to control his strength. Her hips rose to meet him, seating him deeper. He bit her shoulder.

 

Trunks could still see the mark. It was black and purple. A few beads of dried blood decorated it. He swallowed hard, gently blowing the flakes of blood off her shoulder. That made him carefully shift her to her back and he sat up, examining the other marks he’d left on her. Despite her assurance last night that it was all right, he still felt guilty. He’d have to work harder on controlling his strength. It was different from fighting.

Sort of.

He entertained the thought of asking Goku and Vegeta for advice when he got back to the Past. And then immediately balked. 

“Nope,” he said softly and smiled a bit as he shook his head to himself.

 

 

 

He took a long shower. The first time he’d gone back into the Past—the morning of was much the same. He still felt anxious, a little sick—but also excited to be going back. Excited to feel like he was going to _do_ something about this terrible future. He was too jittery to eat. He paced around the house until the sun was fully up and then moved the time machine to the front of the compound before popping it from its capsule. 

“Hey, buddy,” Trunks said, touching one leg like it was the flank of a horse or dog. He floated up and opened the hatch. His mother had changed a few meters, put sticky notes on everything and added a cup holder. 

He put his sword in, as well as a satchel with his notebook and a cell phone and a GPS tracker. 

“Trunks, here are the capsules,” Bulma called up. 

His mother was wrapped up in boots and a ragged coat. She had a small bag that contained half a dozen capsules. Trunks hopped over the side.

“Also, this,” she said, unfolding the denim jacket from her arm. “You wore it last time—maybe it’s good luck.”

Trunks nodded and smiled for her. “I bet it is.” He pulled it on. 

And then his mother was taking his hands. Her voice was lower than a whisper. “Just be careful. I want you back.”

Trunks looked down at the dirt and then back at her. “I will. I’ll be back.” He hugged her tight. 

He’d been shorter last time, he suddenly realized. They’d been head to head six months ago. And now he was two inches taller. 

Bulma wiped her eyes briskly when they parted. “If Vegeta….well. Be yourself. But don’t let him push you around. And he _will_ try.”

Trunks managed a laugh, breaking into a real smile. “Okay, Mom.”

“Oh! And bring back something from Launch if anyone has anything!” 

“Mom,” Trunks grumbled, digging out his notebook again. “Here, look over the list and make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”

The others emerged one by one, watching Trunks and Bulma make last checks over the time machine. 

“Okay, so—what day is today, Trunks?”

“December twelfth.”

“And what day are you setting to come back?”

“The thirteenth,” Trunks dutifully responded.

“And why is that, Trunks?”

“Because even if I show up and they have the cyborgs in a pile of smoking limbs in front of me—last time the Machine wasn’t precise to the location we set it for. So we don’t want to get…crossed with our other selves.”

“We don’t know if that could happen but I don’t want to risk it,” Bulma finished.

Chi-Chi came forward with a small pouch. “Some letters from us to…them.”

“Make sure to tell them that no one proof-read Roshi’s. So whatever is in it, it’s all him,” Oolong said severely.

“And ask if you can bring back a package of Lemon Clubs for me,” Yajirobi insisted. “They haven’t been made here for almost fifteen years.”

“What are you, a runner of the Snack Black Market?” Videl asked.

Yajirobi shifted on his feet. “….no.”

“Wait, _are_ you?” Oolong demanded.

"There's a black market for snacks?" Puar asked.

Videl approached Trunks. “Since they won’t know me…I guess it’s no good to send something for them. So me and Mai and Jaida made something for you, instead.”

Trunks blinked. “For me?”

Mai and Jaida came forward and Jaida pulled out a chain of metal. It was slender and strong. Attached to it was a small cylinder, like a miniature vial. It was constructed of metal but covered in some kind of leather. It was similar to what the time machine was constructed from. In fact, if he didn’t know better—

“Mai made the case and chain from the same metals the time machine is made from. Bulma showed her how to forge it and Mai did the rest.” Videl twisted off the top and showed Trunks the inside. It was empty except for a round metal bead. “Mai also made that—it’s a metal trap. Inside of it is a piece of our gravity from this timeline. I made that and put it inside. We don’t know what all I can do with this gravity—so we figure this will be a good test. Maybe it will cross dimensions with you? Maybe it’ll help us to know if you’re alive. Who knows? And Jaida is going to do some magic on it.”

The operator stepped forward and Videl dumped the metal bead into her hand. Trunks could feel the anti-energy inside of it, strange and cold and unknowable. Jaida wrapped her hand around it and then took Trunks’ rough palm. She didn’t meet his eyes when she let a flutter of green pulse over it. She filled that bead with raw emotion—things that attached him to _this_ world. Things that made him real to all of them. 

_You’re not a pretender._

Trunks felt her touch his mind and then retreat. 

And then she stepped in to embrace him. “Be careful,” she said faintly against his jacket and then stepped back, transferring the bead back to Trunks. She took in a shuddery breath.

The half-saiyan looked down and nodded, dropping the bead back into its vial. He twisted it closed and put it around his neck. Videl and Mai gave him quick, rough hugs. 

“If anything happens—“

Videl raised a hand. “We’ll handle it, Trunks.” 

Trunks searched her face. She looked calm and confident. It was reassuring, a bit. After all, she _had_ figured out how to trap the cyborgs. But no one had seen the twins since the incident and if—

Trunks shook himself to stop that train of thought. It would do no good, now.

Roshi and Yajirobi shook his hand. Puar hugged his arm. Oolong gave him a lazy salute from the ground. 

And finally—they could no longer delay. Goodbyes were said, notes were stowed. 

Trunks took a deep breath, looking up at the machine before he absently patted it again and then jumped up to the cockpit. He dropped inside.

The glass came down. 

He felt his hands go cold. His breathing shuddered in the private silence of the time machine. 

“It’s gonna be okay. What could be worse?”

He turned the dials:

_[May||12||767]_  
_[Coorind. Univer. Time: 0900]_  
_[Lat: -67.512]_  
_[Long: 33.75]_  
_[CONFIRM]_  


Trunks looked at the others outside. Videl met his gaze and nodded to him, eyebrows furrowed and serious.

Trunks pressed the button.

He watched them fade away.


	16. Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mood music for this section was the album, Keosz by the ambient masters, Cryo Chamber: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2jllrVI9rgk  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> The book is Game of Thrones' _Clash of Kings_  
>  \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Mai snorted. “Well, look into his head then!”
> 
> “Oh, right!” Jaida reached out and then paused. “Isn’t that kind of rude? I mean, we don’t know him.”
> 
> “If he’s in any way connected to the cyborgs, I’d rather know _before_ he wakes up,” Videl said. “Read his mind.”
> 
> Jaida shrugged. “Well, can’t argue with that.” She reached out, carefully touching the boy’s cool cheek. There was a monster, a sword, and a strange case. “He’s looking for something. Some kind of box.”  
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bulma sat cross-legged in the laboratory. Her goggles and gloves were lying on the workbench. She accepted the letter from Trunks, blinking when she saw her own name, written with her own hand:

_To Past-Bulma_

_How do I even begin a letter that will be one of the first in its history to exist? A letter that might travel to another universe. (Seriously, we are so smart.) If you’re reading this, then I presume it was given to you by Trunks. If you don’t already know, he is the older version of your baby boy. He has a list with him of a few things we’d like to have him bring back for us. I know you’ve got what I need—because I was you and I remember it. There is a spare radar in the back corner tool chest. You had it set aside. Turns out—our cyborgs are sensitive to the dragonballs. So I’m working on something that might detect them as well. As they’re the absorption points for the signals that the dragonballs emit, besides the dragonballs themselves—in theory I should be able to basically reverse-engineer a signal. Thoughts?_

_This is so weird. Right?_

_I’ve asked Trunks to keep a journal as he travels time but I don’t know how much he’ll actually do it. I think he likes fighting more than he lets on. He feels like he should be ashamed, probably, for enjoying the thrill of combat. He _will_ clash with Vegeta eventually. Trunks will put up with a lot to try to get to know his father, I think. But…he can only be pushed so far. Anyway—for the sake of science and my worried mind, I thought I’d ask you to take some notes about Trunks’ experience in the Past. Measurements and readings and such—see if his body changes or if his energy shifts. If his body adjusts to the butterfly effect (if something changes, will your universe force him to adapt or will he be held within the limitations of _our_ universe?) and how so. And then package them up and send them back with Trunks? And maybe some notes on how he and Vegeta interact? Also, we found Baba here—and she suggested that Trunks might be a spirit saiyan like Goku. Ask Goku to talk with him, if you could. You know how Goku is/was when it comes to dealing with energy and stuff. _

_We don’t know how long Trunks will end up being in the Past…but please look after him. He’s reckless sometimes. And stubborn. And he’s _seventeen_ and I just worry about him. Oh, and start looking into cybernetic limbs. Just in case. (Gohan lost his arm in our time.) _

_And tell Vegeta…well, I guess I don’t know what to pass on to Vegeta. He’s not my Vegeta. He’s yours. Ha. It’s a little strange to wrap your mind around._

_Enclosed is a packet with my prints of the time machine. Just in case there is any trouble with it. It should be fine but, well—if things went how we wanted, I wouldn’t have to be sending my son to you._

_Help him, if you can. I’ve failed him in a lot of ways. Especially in regards to Vegeta. Please be honest with him. He’s a good kid and I worry about him and I know, I know, I sound like Chi-Chi but seriously. I would never have taken such a gamble if the future weren’t so desolate. We’re a total drama queen, other Bulma, but when shit got real—we got it together. I wouldn’t risk breaking time on a whim. And you wouldn’t either._

_Stay safe_  
_Future Bulma_

 

Bulma checked the manilla envelope, finding a wrapped bundle of papers. She unfolded it carefully, peering at the blueprints to the time machine. “Holy _shit_.”

Trunks watched his young mother take in the information. She was immediately enraptured. She seemed so young here, mind eager and turning for new data. 

At the corner of her worktable, there was the crib.

His other-self peered back at him. Almost as if he knew something wasn’t quite right. 

Creepy.

 

 

 

 

“It’s becoming harder to fly,” Videl mused, creating another ball of raw gravity in the air. “I think it must be the gravity. I feel like I get heavier when I use it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Mai said, thoughtful. “You can manipulate the magnetic fields though, right?”

“I should have asked what the energy felt like to Trunks. I wonder if I could use gravity to enhance my own speed—like, changing the resistance around my body and then hit with the gravity’s full force.”

Roshi tapped his pipe to clean it. “Then you should start trying to fight with it. It’s like having a gravity chamber with you all the time. Eh, Bulma?”

The scientist wasn’t listening. She was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the snow. She appeared calm but her eyes were distant and troubled.

“I need a distraction,” Videl said to Roshi. “I’m gonna go crazy.”

“Well, I could always shoot at you. Try to block the charges with the….” Mai waved a hand at it. “…gravity or whatever it is?”

They got up to do so, outside.

Roshi followed them, giving little tidbits of advice.

 

 

 

Jaida sat by the radio rig in the garage, just outside the workshop. There were three different setups here, creating a well of heat right around the rig. The workshop was strangely empty without the ominous Time Machine always looming there.

Wherever Trunks was now, all they could do was hope he made it back.

Bandit on one-forty-one was reading:

_Arya tried to think of what Syrio would have done. She drew her wooden practice sword._

Jaida flipped the channel. Bandit had been reading that series for awhile. Sometimes, she needed a break. It was a long, sad story. 

Dead Jam on channel seventy was just announcing _Mabel’s_ playlist. It was full of angry metal. 

Channel twenty-seven was silent. As was the monitoring channel for the west gate’s radio. Normally, she’d be at home right now, listening to its comforting buzz. But tonight, waiting and waiting to hear from Trunks like all the others—she hung around Capsule Corp. 

Channel five-seventy-five was also silent. Truckers were trying to avoid the main highway from West City after the attacks. 

And the radio just seemed to….get quieter in the winter. Perhaps the cold closed everyone in. Made some turn to despair. She could get that. She’d spent a lot of Christmases alone in Martinsand. Sometimes she still missed the old base. Its rambling walls and extensive tunnels. It had taken her nearly a year to get every door in the base unlocked. Excellent practice at lockpicking and at blowing up safes. So maybe if she outlived the cyborgs, she could always turn to a life of running bank heists. 

She looked at the radio. “Wait a sec, Videl came from Pesto. I wonder if that was her all those weeks ago…”

It was strange to not be able to feel Trunks’ presence anymore. She hadn’t even realized it until he vanished. That she couldn’t feel him, that is. She hadn’t realized that she even _was_ able to sense him. But she, Videl, Roshi and Baba all felt it when Trunks vanished from their universe. Like he’d never existed at all.

After the snow started they, once again, had trouble reaching Plano but an observatory in North City had made contact with them. Bulma had been on the line with them on Channel ninety-nine for a while, discussing some strange disturbances in the sky. The aurora was apparently very active up there and had been from about the time Trunks had left. 

She had to wonder if the cyborgs could sense that Trunks was gone too.

_”For the girl?! Are you kidding me?! You destroyed the remote for her?!”_

She felt conflicting emotions: rage, terror, a hint of understanding _(”I couldn’t tell him—it would have shattered him!”)_ , then more rage, desperation—

And then nothing. 

“Feel something interesting?” Baba asked, floating into the garage. 

Jaida looked up from the radio. “I think I felt…something. I—I’m not sure. I heard it. In my head, I mean. I heard him yelling at someone—he sounded upset. I wasn’t sure I’d actually be able to hear anything from him—since he’s in another universe and all.”

“I wondered as well,” Baba mused. “Interesting that the connection keeps. Assuming, of course, that you got a flash from _our_ Trunks and not a different one.”

“Goddammit.” Jaida grumbled. 

“I know, I know,” Baba said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re going to go crazy if you just sit around watching the radio all night. C’mon. It’s about time you learn how to fly.”

 _That_ caught her attention. Jaida jerked, looking at Baba in surprise and then scrambled up. “Really?!”

“Yes—I might as well teach you. I made you wait—and you were patient. Come on.”

 

 

 

“Videl has to do this in a different way,” Baba said, flying around one of the large training rooms underground. It had once been some sort of laboratory or work area—but it was long disused now. The more people who moved into Capsule corp—the more the structure of the compound was changing as they tweaked it to suit their individual training needs. 

“She has to fly differently?”

“Well, not initially,” Baba clarified. “At first, she learned to fly just like Trunks did. Like Gohan and Goku and all the others. Project enough energy to keep you off the ground. It takes a lot of stamina to manage it. The Saiyans are better equipped to maintain it for long periods of time. Videl has taken command of a different kind of energy. She’s basically doing the opposite. Instead of projecting enough power to break gravity—she is now shifting gravity around _herself_ and changing the magnetic fields so that she can move at will. It’s a more precise control—and uses less energy. It also allows her to move in a way that’s similar to the cyborgs. Which might help explain why they can’t be sensed normally. It has nothing to do with whether or not they are _alive_ and more to do with them actually just changing gravity fields around them so they can fly without producing energy.”

“Is that how _you_ fly?” Jaida asked her, sitting on top of an old desk, her ankle braced on her opposite knee.

“No. Energy can be used in lots of different ways. Because Bulma has always been around fighters—she’s only ever really thought of energy in that framework. But there are many ways to harness it to achieve the same goals. I can travel to other realms on this plane of existence. I have seen the spirit checkpoint and wandered the realms of death. I’ve seen stupid shit like this over and over again. And plenty of reckless idiots are always ready to jump in.”

Jaida smiled a little.

“Well, at least you _know_ I’m talking about all of you.”

Jaida’s smile broke into a grin, shrugging. ”Ready when you are.”

“That’s the thing,” Baba told her. “You’re never ready.”

 

 

 

Master Roshi felt it first as the midnight hour passed. Snow was falling again, glittering through the starlight as it coated West City, Videl and Mai. The two women were practicing—Mai was shooting her energized charges and Videl was blocking with her gravity bending. 

The power wasn’t huge—certainly not as strong as Trunks—but it was considerable. But it also wasn’t moving on its own. 

The old man looked off to the northeast, where a shooting star blazed through the clouds.

“What the—!” Videl stopped, raising a hand to Mai and pointing. 

And then it was gone.

Mai looked at Master Roshi. “Did you feel it?”

“Yes. Not one of the cyborgs. Not Trunks. Someone else.”

“We should go check it out,” Videl said, running her fingers through her hair. She let her energy blaze up around her.

“Wait,” the old man said, wrinkling his nose. “Just cause it ain’t the cyborgs doesn’t mean it’s not stupid-dangerous.”

“And if the cyborgs get to it first?” Videl challenged.

“Then you _all_ better go.”

“Mai, go get Baba and Jaida, see if Chi-Chi and Bulma are up. They can take you in the car until we can get you flying too.”

Mai nodded and skittered off to do so. 

Roshi waited until Mai disappeared inside before he spoke again. “If you wanna lead, Videl, then be careful. If you die before the boy gets back, he’ll be disappointed.”

Videl blinked at the old man. “….what?”

“When you lead others, you also have to deal with the consequences if you make poor choices. This isn’t just about your life anymore, Videl. Mai and Jaida will follow your lead if you ask them to. The three of you have shown that you can work together. Just don’t forget that you aren’t alone anymore.”

Videl shifted a little uncomfortably. “I know _that_. They’re…we’re….friends.”

“I’m not talking about having friends, girl. I’m talking about you forgetting that it’s not only _your_ life that you’re risking. When others trust you, you’re risking _their_ lives too. You young people have all grown up alone. It’s easier to function that way—but a leader has to be aware of how much she risks and how much she can ask her friends to risk.”

Videl stared at him in surprise. “I—“

The door opened and Mai reappeared. Hazard and Jaida were with her. 

“Bulma wants to stay here in case Trunks reappears,” Mai reported. Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, she walked over to one of the cars—charred and covered in barbed wire—with a machine gun mounted on the hood.

Videl nodded quietly, and then glanced at Roshi. “Do you wanna come?”

“Go ahead. Be careful.” Roshi dismissed them with his cane, mussing his beard.

“Mai, I don’t think it’s wise to leave the compound at this hour—especially without waiting for Trunks,” Hazard said, taping his staff on the snow as he carefully followed the former-spy. 

“Something fell there,” Mai said. “It had power. We should get to whatever it is before the cyborgs do.”

“They can’t sense energy,” Hazard said, crossing his arms. 

“But they have eyes. And _we_ saw it. So there’s a chance they did too,” Videl said. She lifted into the air. “Jade—you coming?”

“Sure,” she said quietly, rubber-banding her hair out of her face. “Baba wants me to practice flying anyway.” 

Mai checked the machine gun and started the car, lifting it off the ground. Jaida concentrated as she made herself rise. She had to make herself _lighter_ than air. Trunks broke the bonds of gravity by expelling force and brute power, Videl controlled the magnetic fields, aligning herself with gravity and letting it support her. Jaida had to learn to let go of the physical and move _through_ the world like it held no boundaries as petty as mortal flesh. 

Mai flew by getting in her car. For now.

The three young women took off towards the crash site. It was farther away than it seemed. It was still glowing when they finally came upon it. The red heat from the atmosphere was fading.

“What is that?” Mai asked, standing up in the car. Her headlights lit up the crater the impact had left.

“Looks like some kind of ship,” Videl said, lowering herself to the ground. Jaida landed beside her, looking winded but curious. They headed down into the crater together.

Mai followed them, watching their backs and keeping her eyes open for cyborgs. Her rifle rested at low-ready at her shoulder. She felt the back of her neck prickle.

Videl put her hands on her hips. “Well…I do sense energy from it.”

“Me too,” Jaida echoed softly. “There’s someone in there.”

“Let’s get the door open,” Videl decided, brushing snow out of her hair. She latched into the still-vibrating energy around the small pod-like ship, focusing it around what looked to be some kind of door. Pulling felt sort of like swinging a heavy object over your head. Slow at first and then the momentum hit and _slammed_ the metal down into the snow. 

“You’re getting so precise with that,” Jaida admired.

Mai stayed behind them, still watching the sky but also training her rifle on the pod as the door rattled and fell into dust. 

Inside the pod was an unconscious person. 

Jaida approached carefully. “Hey!”

The person did not stir. He looked young. Maybe fourteen or so? Jaida climbed down into the pod. Videl kept within grabbing distance so she could jerk Jaida out of the pod if the person awoke.

He didn’t. Jaida pulled his hood down. He had a mop of vibrant apple-red hair and pointed ears. “He’s alive,” Jaida reported, touching his throat. His skin was clammy and cold. 

“Where’s he from?” Videl asked.

Jaida looked around the pod. “I dunno. Nothing inside has anything written down—that I can see anyway.”

Mai snorted. “Well, look into his head then!”

“Oh, right!” Jaida reached out and then paused. “Isn’t that kind of rude? I mean, we don’t know him.”

“If he’s in any way connected to the cyborgs, I’d rather know _before_ he wakes up,” Videl said. “Read his mind.”

Jaida shrugged. “Well, can’t argue with that.” She reached out, carefully touching the boy’s cool cheek. There was a monster, a sword, and a strange case. “He’s looking for something. Some kind of box.”

“A box?” Mai asked.

“I dunno—there’s an older one, who looks like him. Maybe he has the box? There’s no malice in him. Just…loss. And fear.”

“Boy, did he come at a shit time. Let’s get him back to Capsule Corp,” Videl said. 

“I don’t suppose you’re keeping any half-saiyans in there?”

Videl closed her eyes and sighed. 

Jaida whirled around, looking up at Eighteen. “Can’t you find _anything_ better to do, Lazuli?”

Eighteen flared with a sudden, explosive rage. She flashed over the snow, slamming Jaida into the side of the craft. She slammed her fist into Jaida’s throat—or would have—but she vanished. Making herself _light_ , slipping _through_ Eighteen and sprinting away from her. 

The cyborg turned on a dime to chase—but then Videl smashed into her from behind. She planted her boots in Eighteen’s back, hitting her with two bands of gravity at the same time. They latched into her arms and slammed her face first into the ground. Eighteen swore at them. 

“Seventeen! Kill her!”

Seventeen was still standing at the edge of the crater, arms crossed. “Why do you even care about the stupid ship, Eighteen?”

“Where’s Trunks?” Eighteen spit at Videl. “Shouldn’t he be here to take point for you?”

“He was tired tonight. Figured he’d let us run around for a bit,” Videl sneered at her. 

“Who’s the ginger?” Seventeen asked, casually, glancing to Mai.

“Um….we don’t actually know. We just saw the ship fall so we came to investigate,” Mai told him, peering curiously at the cyborg.

“See, sis. Nothing interesting. Let’s go,” Seventeen huffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s fucking cold out here.”

Videl studied Seventeen. He was….trying to get Eighteen to leave? Was he trying to spare them? What the hell was going on?

“You’re gonna die.”

Videl tensed a little, gaze flipping over to Jaida. Her amber eyes were fixed on Eighteen. Something in her face had gone strange and grey and unfocused. 

Eighteen sneered, fighting to stand up. “Oh, right. Is Trunks gonna kill us or are you, witch? Or will it be Mai’s little toy guns? Or, hey, maybe even Videl. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Videl? Get to be a hero?”

“It will be Trunks. When he comes back.”

“Jaida!” Videl said sharply.

“Comes back from where?” Eighteen furrowed her eyebrows, glaring.

“He went to another universe. He traveled through time. Just so he could find out how to kill the both of you.”

Eighteen burst out laughing. Seventeen snorted a little, looking bemused. He glanced at Mai—studying her calm, serious expression and her pretty, dark eyes. 

“This is your last chance,” Jaida told them. “Do you realize that? When he comes back, he’s going to kill you. Sometimes it’s Seventeen first—but it’s usually Eighteen first.”

“Cause I’m a lady?” Eighteen sneered, smirking.

“Because you’re both a couple of weak cowards, who still let Doctor Gero control them.”

“He does _not_ control us anymore! I _killed_ him! He’s dead!” Eighteen’s eyes lit up in fury.

Videl shifted back from Jaida a little, exchanging a wary glance with Mai. 

Jaida’s eyes emptied out. “Yeah, he’s dead. But you still do exactly what he would have wanted, don’t you? And you know, I get it—in a small way. He locked you both up for _years_. He hurt you two in ways that…we can’t even fathom. The things that horrible man did the two of you—were fucking terrible. Before I could see these things, two months or so ago—I would have told Trunks to let the two of you fucking _burn_ for everything you’ve done. But now I can see glimpses into other futures. You’re both going to die if you don’t stop this now. When he comes back, he will kill you both.”

“You see future visions of _us_?” Seventeen asked, folding his arms together and watching her.

“In futures like this—Trunks kills you. Or you kill each other.”

“Bullshit—“

“It will start slowly, Lapis. What did she say to you a year ago? _Everything I like, you destroy.”_

Seventeen tensed a little. Eighteen froze.

“That’s where it will start. Where it’s already started.”

“You’re layin’ it on pretty thick, don’t you think?” Eighteen snapped. 

“You tell me. You killed Doctor Gero, right? Why? Because he hurt you over and over and over again. And you two do the same thing to all of us. You think that you’ll be strongest forever? What do you think Gero thought before you killed him?”

Eighteen paused, glaring at her. 

“Consider your human sides for a moment,” Mai suddenly spoke up, watching Seventeen. “You’ve driven earthlings to desperate measures. And we took them.”

“This is your last chance,” Jaida repeated.

“Why would you give a _shit_ about warning us?” Seventeen wanted to know.

“Because Trunks would not exist without a man named Vegeta, who you killed a lot time ago. Vegeta was spared when he _should_ have been killed the first time he came to Earth. If he had been—Trunks would not exist—and I would be dead. But because someone gave Vegeta a second chance—Trunks was able to save my life. So, out of respect for alternate timelines and endless possibilities, I’m warning you both now. You have less than forty-eight hours. Now is the time to make your choice. You think that cut on your arm is bad, Lazuli? You haven’t seen what I’ve _seen_ him do to you in other futures.” 

“Oh, like _what?_ Cry?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about your arms at all.”

Eighteen narrowed her glass-blue eyes, peering at her, trying to see through her. “Fuck _all_ of you.” She raised her palm.

But then Seventeen moved, phasing in front of his sister. “Wait, Eighteen. It’s not like we don’t have time. Let’s give this some thought.”

“You _believe_ them.”

“I’m curious,” Seventeen said simply, shrugging. “If they’re lying, we’ll find out as soon as we see Captain Capsule again. If not, well…then we’ll die. It’s not like they’re going anywhere. And we know where they sleep. If they want to protect some kid—let them. It’s just suspending the inevitable.”

Eighteen peered at her brother, studying him. Then she glanced at the three humans, settling on Mai. “Fine,” she intoned, scowling at Goku’s former enemy. “If you wouldn’t mind?” She nodded to her bound arms. The bands of gravity were pulling her towards the ground—but Eighteen was still stubbornly holding her own against it.

Videl glanced uneasily at Jaida and Mai and Seventeen. Then back at Eighteen. “Fine.” The bands fell to the earth and dug down into it, disappearing into the snow.

The cyborg was to her in a flash. Her knee met Videl’s gut—but the cyborg held back. It was enough to stagger the human but not kill. “I hate you,” Eighteen said to Videl and then she whipped around and shot off into the sky.

Videl held her stomach, falling to her knees and shuddering silently through the pain. Jaida went to her, putting a hand on her back and supporting her.

“Why did you heal me before?” Mai asked, eyes narrowed up at Seventeen.

Seventeen scowled. He’d taken an involuntary step towards Mai when he saw Eighteen move. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. He hadn’t intended to attack, he knew. “I healed _both_ of you.”

“How? I didn’t think you two could do that.”

Seventeen sighed. “Hey, look—if we train, we get stronger. So we can learn shit too. So I tried out some things and they worked. You were more an experiment than anything else.”

“Seventeen,” Mai said, tone strange and curious and oddly _final_. “We’ve all seen a lot of death. We can help you, if you let us.”

For a moment, his glass-blue eyes widened and he took a step back. Something in his face was startled, hunted, uncertain. He opened his mouth to speak—and then whirled around and took off. 

Mai took a deep breath, watching him shoot away like a comet. Then she hurried over. “Videl? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” managed the human, standing up on shaky legs. “Wow, she hits hard.”

“Did you really see alternate futures about them?” Mai asked, going back to the downed ship.

Jaida hesitated. “Well….about Lapis, I did. Lazuli…I just—made it up. I haven’t looked into her head. Just Lapis’. But I mean, she’s obviously there with him most of the time.”

“Why do you call them those names? I mean…they clearly don’t identify to them anymore,” Videl mused.

“Those are their names. There’s power in names,” Jaida answered with a simple shrug. She walked Videl over to Mai’s hovering car and helped her sit down on the hood by the machine gun. 

Mai exited the ship with the boy over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Jaida went to assist, checking the pod for any belongings and finding a leather satchel, along with a beautiful sword and matching sheath. She grabbed the items and helped Mai lift the boy into the car. He was still unconscious. 

They all rode back in the vehicle together. Maybe they were all surprised that they’d come out of the interaction relatively unscathed. 

Also, oh yeah, a space craft had landed sixty miles away with an unconscious teenager in it, right after Trunks leaves for the past. 

“What the ever-loving fuck is even happening anymore,” Videl murmured, looking up at the stars. 

Mai half-smiled.

 

 

 

“Another unconscious stranger,” Bulma said, sighing. “Who is this one?”

“From off-planet,” Mai said. 

“He’s looking for something here. But I’m not sure what. He seems focused on some kind of…case. Or maybe an elaborate coffin?” Jaida crossed her arms, looking down at the table Bulma had him on. “It’s hard to…parse out what exactly he needs from it. But there is another one—of whatever race he is—pointy ears, bottle-green eyes, fire-engine red hair—but a little older. Maybe a brother? So that person and this box. So I thought maybe coffin—but I….I’m not sure if he’s dead. The boy doesn’t know, I don’t think, whether this person is still alive. It’s just…sort of muddled in his head.”

Bulma sighed again. “How do these people _find_ us? Shit.”

Lancer sucked in on a homemade cigarette. “Seriously. Is Earth some kind of East City bank to other planets?”

Chi-Chi entered the lab with a platter of food. She placed it down on a nearby desk. “C’mon you three. Come eat something.”

Hazard had followed Chi-Chi inside. He still looked a little disapproving as Mai told them what had happened. 

“That was a stupid idea,” Chi-Chi told them. “They could have killed all three of you. It’s a fucking miracle that they didn’t.”

“I think he likes Mai,” Videl suggested. “Or something?”

“I’m not sure,” Mai replied. Her shoulders stiffened a little defensively. “I don’t think it would stop him from killing me.”

“Not if he wanted to. But he _did_ stop Eighteen.” Videl paced around the laboratory.

Jaida jolted over by the window. She suddenly grabbed onto the sill, silencing the shake in her breathing.

“You all right?” Bulma called over, looking up from the boy.

“Yeah, I just…saw something.” She had gone a sickly shade of grey. 

“About Trunks?!” Bulma said stiffly.

Videl watched the young radio operator suddenly hesitate. 

“….no,” Jaida answered quietly, meeting no one’s eyes. “I just…need to talk to Baba, I think.” She left the room, trying not to seem like she was hurrying, but seeming unable to help it.

Bulma watched her go before turning back to the boy. She looked troubled as she slid an IV into his arm and started him on fluids. “His heartbeat is steady. He’s still alive—just either asleep or unconscious. Maybe he slept to conserve energy. We’ll get him going again.” 

 

Three hours later, the sun came up. Videl paced outside restlessly. She’d told Mai how to focus her energy but was having difficulty doing it herself right now. To her credit, Mai continued to try. Chi-Chi came out eventually to help her. 

In the workshop, the radio was on—all three receivers were quiet on the three channels they were set to (eleven, twenty-seven and five-seventy-five). 

“Capsule-Lady—this is Observer from North City—we’ve got sudden fluctuations--flip to channel ninety-nine if you're there,” a voice called in on channel eleven. 

Bulma hurried to the rig and picked up the receiver, turning the dial to channel ninety-nine. “Repeat, Observer. You say there’s more disturbances?”

“Yep—my readings have been elevated for hours—but they suddenly spiked again. Not sure what’s going on but—”

The radio blasted static.

Light flashed over Capsule Corp’s grounds.

And like a monolith, the Time Machine stood on the lawn once again.


	17. Twists and Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the _fuck_ are you?” Seventeen recoiled. 
> 
> The creature opened its beak? Mouth? It let out a rough sigh, almost contented, thick tongue sliding out. “I am the beginning of your true lives.”  
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Trunks!” Jaida jumped down from the roof, sprinting towards the front lawn just as Bulma burst out of the house. 

Videl zipped up beside the operator as the hatch opened. 

And Trunks hopped out. 

They all stopped short. Trunks was…taller. And his hair was long. He was wearing the clothes he’d left in—though he’d outgrown them a bit. He was bigger, more muscular and something…felt…strange about him. Something had quieted—

“So you made it back,” Baba observed, floating over to him. 

“How did it go?” Videl demanded.

Trunks looked over all of them. His eyes were dark and quiet. Like a still pool of water or something. “I…” And then for a moment, he looked lost—uncertain of what to say. 

Bulma dismissed it and just hugged him tightly. “Oh my god, you’ve grown so much. I like the long hair—it looks good. How _long_ were you there?”

“Over a year.”

 _”What?!”_ Videl exclaimed.

“A year?!” Bulma stared at him. “What happened? Did they defeat the cyborgs?”

“It’s a long story, Mom. I—“

“Let’s go inside. C’mon, hon.” Bulma put a hand on his spine to urge her son to walk with her. 

Trunks practically towered over Bulma now, but he followed her. 

Jaida watched them walk away and looked at Videl.

“It’s all right,” Videl said quietly. “He’s been gone a year. Give him time. He has to adjust back.”

 

 

 

“We’ve got a lot to do,” Trunks said quietly, opening up a satchel and beginning to remove items. He placed several things on the dining room table as everyone gathered around. “I was able to learn a lot of things about the cyborgs and Doctor Gero.”

“Can you kill the cyborgs?” Yajirobi asked eagerly.

Something in Trunks’ gaze darkened again at the table top. He nodded. “Without a doubt. They won’t be a problem.”

Everyone stared at him. 

Trunks laid down a stack of notebooks. “Mom, this is for you—from the…other you. She studied the blue prints for the time machine a lot and wanted to make some notes for you. Other Master Roshi sent along this…” He pulled out a large mailing envelope. It was several inches thick and burnt orange. “I don’t know what’s in it. And I didn’t ask.” He held the package out to Master Roshi with a smile. 

The old man cackled, taking it eagerly. “Knew I could count on me!”

“Yajirobi, they sent a capsule of Lemon Clubs for you. And a few other odds and ends.” He tossed the capsule to the samurai. 

He pulled out a sack, stuffed to bursting. “Sensu beans,” he announced, plopping them down on the table with a smile.

“Thank god,” Bulma said, sounding relieved. 

“Chi-Chi….um, well—everyone got letters,” Trunks said, pulling out a capsule and popping it open. A small crate appeared on the table. He pulled the top off. “Everyone’s letters are in different packages. Chi-Chi….there is one there from Goku. Just—so you’re not taken by surprise.”

Chi-Chi swallowed hard and took a large parcel, drawing it to herself. She could feel the weight of several hand-written letters inside.

“Mai….this is for you,” Trunks said, more softly. He held up a large parcel. “This is everything my mom had in the past about you and Pilaf.” He saw the trepidation in her face as she stared at the package. But she took it, frowning and determined.

He took out a roll of papers then. “We found blueprints for the cyborgs. So I made copies and brought them with me. I also got the location of Gero’s lab, the Lookout, and…and New Namek.”

Bulma couldn’t smother a startled cry. “You _got_ them?!”

“Yes.” Trunks couldn’t fight the smile at her excitement. “We can go to New Namek whenever we get a ship ready.”

“Oh my god,” Bulma said faintly, sinking down into a chair. She kept waiting for the axe to fall. For her son to tell her something horrible. This—too many good things at once. Could it really be true?

“Does this mean we can wish back Gohan?” Chi-Chi burst out, staring at Trunks. She was shaking a little.

Trunks swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. We can.”

Hazard put a hand on Chi-Chi’s shoulder, feeling the desperation with which she tried to quell the tremble in her.

“Videl, Jaida—they don’t know either of you yet. But I told them a little about each of you. They sent along some new gear for you.” He handed Videl another capsule with a gentle smile. 

Videl took it, studying him. Something had changed but…

Trunks looked away. “I…I’m sorry, everyone. But, could I speak to my mom in private for a minute?”

“Of course, Trunks,” Videl said immediately. She led the others out.

Bulma stayed seated beside her son. She touched his arm, searching his face. “Trunks? What is it? What happened?”

Trunks took a deep breath and wet his lips before he looked at her. “Mom, I….I died. While I was there.”

Bulma cringed a little. “The cyborgs?”

Trunks’ eyes darkened further, one hand curling into a fist. “No.”

 _That_ made Bulma stop cold. “Then what? What _happened?_ Surely it wasn’t one of the others? Who would h—“

“Gero’s lab had a basement, Mom. And inside—there was a…creature. A thing called _Cell_. It’s….difficult to explain it all. I tried to write down as much as I could about what happened. But he was so _strong_. Way stronger than the cyborgs. He was created to absorb _them_. Seventeen years ago, he was just a mutant fetus thing. But around now—he wakes up and started searching for the cyborgs.”

“So there’s…it’s walking around right now?”

“It could be. I’d like to get to Gero’s lab before that happens. But, Mom—seventeen years ago, it was still a fetus. We ran into the…developed one.”

Bulma’s eyes widened. “At the….in the same timeline?” 

“Yes,” Trunks said, seeing the realization start to spread across her face. “Two of them were in the same timeline. He basically ate the cyborgs and became insane strong. I mean. Just totally beyond what any of us could do. But he was there because…in a different timeline he stole my time machine. He stole it by killing me.”

“Oh my god,” Bulma said faintly, putting her forehead in her palm.

“But it’s okay—I mean, Gohan beat him.”

“Gohan did?”

“Yeah…” Trunks said softly. “He did it. Of course he did, right? Gohan was the strongest person I know. But when I died in that timeline—I was killed by Cell after he ate the cyborgs. And…ha…” And Trunks finally smiled again, almost nervously. “After he did…Dad apparently went ballistic.”

Bulma blinked. “V-Vegeta did?”

“He just…flew off the handle and went crazy. No one had ever seen him defend someone like that before.” Her son looked shy, humble, staring down at the tabletop. “In the end, he helped Gohan kill Cell.” He looked at his hands. “It was just….I had a really hard time with him—the entire time I was there. He was difficult, abrasive, stubborn, arrogant—“

Bulma started to nod at each word, smiling a little as her eyes teared up.

“—and so frustrating,” Trunks said, taking a deep breath. “But…we trained together for a year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.”

Bulma blinked. “The Room of Spirit and Time?”

“Yes—Goku told us about it. So technically I guess I was only there for a couple weeks. But throw the time chamber in there and I was there for, well….two years and a month, basically. I went in twice. With Dad.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Bulma breathed.

“Yeah. It was….pretty intense. I wanted to train with Goku the second time…but I…didn’t really know how to ask.”

“You could always go back?” Bulma suggested.

Trunks hesitated and then looked down. “Goku died during the fight with Cell—and he requested not to be brought back. Because he saw the pain and suffering that his enemies inflicted. And…”

“Oh Goku….” Bulma said softly. She looked out the window. 

“I have a more detailed account in my log books. I’ll get them for you so you can read about it. The others took down some notes for me too.”

Bulma suddenly stood up. Trunks started to push his chair out but his mother grabbed him in a hug, gripping him tightly about the head and shoulders and running her fingers through his hair. “You’ve gone through so much for everyone, Trunks.” She could feel how he still turned inward when she said it. “Thank you for being so brave.” She buried her eyes in his hair like he was ten years old again, probably smooshing his nose into her collarbone but he didn’t complain. 

For a long, quiet moment—it was just the two of them again. 

When she drew back, she smiled at him. “You look so grown-up and handsome.”

“Technically, I _am_ nineteen now. I think? Right?”

“Yes.”

They both smiled. Trunks still looked younger when he smiled. 

“So—I was only gone for a day, right? Did the cyborgs attack while I was gone?”

Bulma paused. “Well….Videl ran into them but…she said they didn’t fight.”

Trunks blinked, eyeing her. “What do you mean?”

“They…she said Seventeen convinced Eighteen to leave. He seemed to have a weird interest in Mai.”

Something strange crossed her son’s face. “Seventeen did?”

“What?” Bulma asked, studying his expression.

Trunks took a deep breath. “So….other weird things that happened. Eighteen.”

 

 

 

“With Krillin?” Chi-Chi repeated, cocking an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Trunks said, sighing. “Because I almost killed him when he spared her. Because then Dad allowed Cell to absorb her and we all almost died. Except for me. I mean, I _did_ die.”

“Wow, shocker. Vegeta and Krillin screwed it up.” Bulma huffed. “I feel bad for my other self. Building these remotes must have taken some time.”

“About twenty hours.”

“Well, there’s twenty hours she can’t get back. I mean. Unless she…travels through time. Though, even then, it’s not her twenty hours. Or whatever.”

“So how are we getting to New Namek? Because last time we did this—we met Freeza,” Roshi said, sitting at the dining table smoking hash and examining a glossy magazine upside down.

“Let’s try not to repeat that clusterfuck,” Bulma said darkly. “I’ll get to work on a long-distance ship. I plotted the universal coordinates. It’ll take a month or two to reach New Namek. You’d think the dragon would have just made a New Namek in the same place as old Namek. Maybe the explosion created a black hole or something.” Bulma dismissed it with a wave.

“Once the cyborgs are taken care of, I’ll go to Namek,” Trunks said quietly. “If their dragon grants three wishes, I can travel there and then wish myself back to Earth. If you think they’ll allow it?”

“I wanna go too,” Videl said. “I’ve never been off-planet. Sounds interesting.”

“I should really go,” Bulma mused. “I mean—“

“We can’t risk both of you,” Chi-Chi interrupted. “If you both die on the way—then we’re screwed.”

“I’ll go,” Trunks said again. “Soon as the cyborgs are dealt with.”

“What about this Cell creature?” Mai asked.

“I’ll check Gero’s lab now that I know where it is. If it isn’t there—then we’ll have to wait. He’ll come to us. If the past is any indicator.” Trunks looked around the table. He had to wonder if his mother’s friends would be similar to those he’d met in the Past. 

Bringing Gohan back could be…

“Let’s get started then,” Videl suggested, watching Trunks closely as she stood up. “Gero’s lab first?”

“Yeah, sure.” Trunks got up. 

Mai and Jaida got up too.

“Are you coming?” Mai asked Lancer and Hazard.

“I’m afraid I’m not much use in the air,” the blind man said and gently smiled.

Lancer winked under his cowboy hat. “I’ll stay here, help hold down the fort in case the bastards show themselves.” He glanced sidelong at Bulma. “Maybe the young lady here will let me help her in the lab.”

“With what? Standing there to look pretty?” Bulma scoffed.

“Well, you already can do that, as well as produce amazing technology.” 

Bulma rolled her eyes but she chuckled.

Trunks turned around, glaring at the man. 

 

 

 

A half hour later, they were flying towards South City. Videl and Trunks clipped along at a steady pace. Mai and Jaida lagged behind a little as they got accustomed to flying, strengthening their energy control. They helped each other as much as they could. 

By the time they touched down at an ordinary-looking mountain side, the two of them were winded. Trunks took point then, leading them up the mountain. 

“Just so you guys know,” Trunks said, “in the past, there was another cyborg here—only he was _actually_ an android. He was number sixteen.”

“Oh, no,” Videl grumbled. “Is this gonna be what fucks us over?”

“Well, not if he’s the same as in the past. Sixteen was different. I guess he was modeled after Gero’s dead son. He was gentle and kind. He convinced Seventeen and Eighteen not to kill anyone anymore.”

“Whoa,” Videl whistled. “So is he just…chilling in here playing solitaire or what?”

“He was in a chamber. We would have to let him out,” Trunks said. “I’m not saying we should—just that he _is_ there. Or at least, he was in the past.” 

Trunks blew the door open.

The lab was dark until they stepped inside. Then the lights coughed on. There was a skeletal corpse by a computer console. No doubt the actual Doctor Gero.

“Whoa, he was a cyborg too?” Mai said, walking up to the body and examining the head casing.

“How did he even _do_ that?” Jaida mused.

“Damn,” Videl said, sounding impressed as she looked around the lab. “Capsule Corp eat your heart out. Bulma would like this place.”

Trunks saw the empty chambers for Seventeen and Eighteen. Sixteen was exactly where he’d been in the past. He looked down at the red-haired android. 

And then he walked away. They could take Sixteen’s case with them. Mai and Jaida were picking up any papers with writing or blueprints on them, stowing them in their satchels to take to Bulma. He found the ladder swiftly, remembering the location from when he and Krillin had come here (in the Past, of course). The four of them hopped down.

As Trunks both feared and suspected—the giant tube was smashed open. The floor was sticky with dried…whatever the hell it was that Cell had soaked in for all these years. “Looks like he’s already broken out,” Trunks said softly.

“We’ll put out an alert on the radio,” Jaida suggested. “Make sure everyone is paying attention and hopefully someone will sight this thing before it finds the cyborgs.”

“We should start looking for the cyborgs ourselves,” Videl added, running fingers through her short, choppy hair.

“I suppose we did tell them they didn’t have long,” Mai snorted, smiling a little at Jaida. The witch looked a little embarrassed as Mai explained to Trunks what had happened.

“Wait—“ Trunks said as they exited the lab, him hefting android Sixteen’s chamber with one hand. “You found a _kid?”_

“He was still unconscious when we left,” Videl said, as they took to the air.

Trunks turned around and fired a hefty blast. The lab was demolished. “Twists and turns.” 

By the time they returned to Capsule Corp, Videl was half-carrying Mai and Jaida was resting on Sixteen’s chamber. The weight seemed to mean nothing to Trunks and, once again, she had to marvel at his strength. She hopped off when they flew above the city. 

“I’m going to go start making the announcements on channel twenty-seven,” Jaida said. She headed for her house.

Trunks watched her fly away before turning towards Capsule Corp. 

“Trunks?” 

He glanced at Videl. “What is it?” He set Sixteen’s chamber down.

“You all right?”

“Yeah—I just…” Trunks looked down at the android. “Is…she okay?”

“Yeah—she just isn’t sure how to act around you yet. I mean, you feel really different now. Probably doesn’t want to make anything weird, wants to give you time to adjust back. Cyborgs are more important than anyone’s feelings, right?”

Trunks looked down at Sixteen again. Before, he would have agreed. But after seeing how far Krillin had been willing to go for Eighteen….and how raw emotion was the key to unlocking such incredible power in Gohan, and the perfected second form that Trunks himself had gained after his death….

“I guess I’m not really sure anymore,” Trunks mused. 

Bulma came out of the compound. “Is this the other one? Sixteen, you said?”

“Yeah. What should we do with him?”

“Let’s get him to the lab—see if I can take a look in his head and make some tweaks before we wake him up.”

 

 

“This is Jaida out of West City. Anyone and everyone who is listening, we’re changing gears a little over here. If anyone catches sight or sound of the cyborgs, please radio in. We’re looking for _them_ this time.”

Channel twenty-seven was quiet for a moment and then someone keyed in.

“Jaida? It’s Dizon. What’s going on?”

“I can’t give full details yet, Dizon,” Jaida answered. “But there’s….hope. We just need to find them and then we’ll know for sure.”

“Can do. I’ll pass the word along, Jaida. It’s good to hear you’re still alive, you know?”

“Thanks, Dizon. With any luck—by the end of the day, the dust will settle. And we can start rebuilding.”

Two hours later, Dizon buzzed back in to report that the deadheads had been sighted above Los Gatos. They hadn’t attacked yet but they were there. 

Trunks looked at the rig in the workshop for a long moment, listening as Jaida thanked Dizon and went silent, no doubt getting her gear together.

Trunks did the same. 

 

 

 

Seventeen crossed his arms, looking down at the empty city. “I don’t get it,” he said.

Eighteen scowled. “Me neither. This place totally had people yesterday.”

“They can’t _all_ be hiding. I mean—there’s always noise or something.”

“And why are all their clothes outside?”

“Hey—there’s something. Someone?” Seventeen mused, flying forward.

A small figure had just emerged from a building. 

“What the hell is that?” Eighteen said. “That’s not a human.”

“At least, not completely,” a harsh voice intoned, suddenly zapping up into the sky. 

“What the _fuck_ are you?” Seventeen recoiled. 

The creature opened its beak? Mouth? It let out a rough sigh, almost contented, thick tongue sliding out. “I am the beginning of your true lives.”

“Uh, what?” Eighteen glanced at Seventeen, warily backing up a little.

“The key to my perfection. My brother and sister—our father has the perfect plan for us. Come to me, meet your destiny as part of me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eighteen growled.

The creature breathed, loud and heavy—

And then moved.

Seventeen blasted back—and then the tail whipped around and clobbered him. The cyborg slammed down into the city, smashing through an apartment complex.

“Seventeen—“ And then it was in Eighteen’s face. She blasted it before shooting away. 

He was on her in a flash—she had to whip back. This was different from Trunks. Totally different. This _thing_ was fast as shit and he’d batted Seventeen like he was….nothing. And Seventeen was likely the stronger of the two of them. Eighteen blitzed through the open air, down into the city. Not for the first time, she wished they could sense energy. It was stupid as fuck that Gero hadn’t somehow given them such a basic ability. 

Seventeen was just shoving a block of concrete off himself. “What the hell was that!” He called out when he saw Eighteen, scrambling up. “It’s—Eighteen!”

She whirled around—saw the thing coming at her again. The tail wrapped around her waist and whipped her closer to the strange creature.

“Don’t you want to know more, Eighteen? Aren’t you curious about where I came from? What Gero had in store for—“

She blasted him point-blank in the face. Seventeen smashed into the creature’s gut. They felt him convulse, releasing Eighteen. The Twins sped back to gain some distance, getting their bearings to prepare to fight as a team.

“You know I’m stronger than both of you,” the creature grinned, tongue sliding over the beak again. “I bet that’s a new feeling, isn’t it?”

Seventeen tensed and looked at Eighteen. She looked back. Both of them thinking about Videl, Mai and Jaida from yesterday. 

“I thought you said Gero made you. Why do you wanna kill _us?”_ Eighteen demanded.

“It’s nothing personal, beautiful sister. You two were created to complete _me_.”

“Uh, _what?”_ Seventeen curled his lip in disgust.

“Unlike you, I am purely biomechanical. You can call me Cell. Though you won’t get to for long.”

“Fuck you,” Eighteen snapped.

“Indeed,” Cell rasped. And then he moved—slamming into her, driving her into the concrete of the road below. 

Seventeen fired after them. The thing’s tail slammed his sister into a wall. She was bleeding from the mouth and holy fucking shit—its tail _opened_ \--

_I’m not going to make it. He’s going to kill my sister—he’s going to—_

And then Trunks slammed into the creature from above.


	18. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: The Wanderer's Lullaby: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70VlAyEUXYM
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> In fact, he was pretty sure of that—because he’d spoken to Goku about why he’d spared Vegeta. 
> 
> _Because, Trunks—if you don’t know the value of mercy, then you might become exactly like your enemy. Sometimes it doesn’t work, yeah. I tried to let Freeza go—but he attacked me. I didn’t clean up the Red Ribbon army—and I destroyed everyone’s lives, including Vegeta’s. But when we have this kind of power—we have to be careful not to become our enemies. When you go back to the cyborgs, you won’t have anyone around to remind you, Trunks. Try to remember what you don’t want to become. And if the tables were turned—what would they do to you? And then do the opposite. That’s what I did for Vegeta. He hates me for it sometimes but…I just think that, at his core, he really wasn’t that bad. He was never taught compassion--so I showed it to him._  
>  \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bulma held him close. She shielded Trunks’ head from falling debris as she ducked into the old factory down by the shore. Trunks kept trying to look around. He was dirty, streaked with mud and scared. But he was completely silent, like a good boy, she’d told him. Like a good boy.

She pressed her back against the filthy concrete wall, ducking down by a battered furnace. She held Trunks in her lap, rocking back and forth. Gohan was outside somewhere—dammit, and he was only fourteen. He’d ordered her to grab Trunks and run—and goddammit, she’d done it because she couldn’t help the poor kid. Dusk was fast approaching in the port town of Ibrik. They’d come here looking for supplies, scouring the city for electronics that they could take. Bulma wanted to collect as much material as she could. They’d spent the whole day here.

Trunks had seemed to really enjoy it. He wanted to do everything Gohan did, of course. And Gohan responded immediately to Trunks’ enthusiasm and kindness. One bright spot in this clusterfuck of a world. The two were quickly becoming attached to each other—like brothers. It made her smile a little at how Vegeta would have grumbled. Trunks had bounced in and out of buildings, watching Gohan fly around and begging the other half-saiyan to teach him—and then a blast had rained down into an old apartment complex. 

It drove something very close to Bulma’s heart at how Trunks did not freeze or cower in the street. He moved into the shadows—it was immediate and automatic. He raced to a dark doorway and knelt down, looking up. And then swiftly scanned around for her. She’d been on the opposite side of the street in a small shop. She put her finger to her lips to indicate he should be silent. 

Only four. He was only four and he’d already learned. She hadn’t even had to teach him. It made her heart hurt.

Gohan landed in the middle of the street, glancing between the two of them. He pointed further into the city and took off again. He fired some energy to his left and Bulma and Trunks both heard laughter as it pinpointed Gohan’s location to the cyborgs.

Bulma peeked out of the shop and sprinted across the street to Trunks. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

“But—what about Gohan?” Her boy’s big blue eyes filled up with fear for him.

Bulma swallowed hard. “We have to run. He’s giving us a chance to escape.”

“But—“

Bulma scooped him up and ran. He was so small compared to even how Gohan had been at four. Perhaps it was the lack of consistent food and always being trapped inside. “We have to trust Gohan, okay?” She murmured to him, almost choking on the lie even as she said it. 

Bulma would give just about anything to be able to help Goku’s son. Anything. Except Trunks. She held him tightly to her in the old factory. But she couldn’t do a goddamn thing—

Or could she?

The scientist looked at the factory equipment. She wasn’t entirely sure what kind of factory this was but looking at all the chutes and ladders and such—it might have been a shipping facility. It looked as though it’d been abandoned very suddenly—there were still packages waiting to be sorted. There was an entire column of fireworks being prepped for—

“Trunks, I need you to stay right here, okay?”

Trunks looked up at her. “N-no, Mom—“

“I have to help Gohan. So I need you to stay here, okay, Trunks? Right here. Don’t move. Okay?”

“But I want to help—“

She set him down next to the bulky old furnace. “Stay here.”

He obeyed but he watched her closely as she got up and hurried over to the boxes that were quarantined in Special Shipments. Chemicals, flammables, weapons and related items were all kept separate from other boxes. They were all coated in a thick layer of dust—one of the boxes was labeled with a date that would have been right around the time the cyborgs had appeared. No way to know if any of this stuff would still work—but she was willing to take that bet. 

Bulma sprinted down to a set of docking bays for ships. She busted the locks with a hammer, letting it take some of her helpless fury. It sparked and flew apart and she shoved the grating up as hard as she could. A small rusted cargo ship, loaded with oil barrels, was silently bobbing in the bay. When she’d extended the hand-cranked ramp to the ship’s deck, she raced back to the chemicals and fireworks. She lifted as much as she could, shoving the plastic barrels on the rollers of the ramp and guiding the items to the ship’s deck. She’d made two trips and then saw Trunks pick up a box to help her. He copied her movements and she couldn’t tell him to go hide again. He likely felt as furiously helpless as she did.

It made her think of Gohan when they’d been on Namek. 

And suddenly, she understood Chi-Chi’s fierce rage and protectiveness of Gohan—given how he’d nearly been killed so many times by five years old.

Bulma shook herself as she threw the last box of fireworks and an entire crate of some kind of alcohol. 

“Now what?” Trunks asked, looking up at her.

“We have to blow it up,” Bulma told him. “Somehow. Um.” She scanned the building.

“I can do it, Mom!” Trunks told her eagerly. “I can do it! Gohan showed me how!” He raced to the ramp and then hesitated, looking at her. “C-Can I?”

Bulma sighed helplessly. “Yes. Light it up, sweetie.”

He got up on the edge of the ramp and extended his hand. The blast was a pure, brilliant blue. It wasn’t large—but it was bright and hot. The oil ship flared red, the fireworks caught—and Bulma grabbed her son when it exploded. Catherine wheels and cherry bombs, Penguin Beaks and category three, illegal-in-five-county blooms zipped into the dark sky—bursting with color and light over the bay. But Bulma did not stay to watch. She ran across the compound again, hearing a blast take out most of the docking bay and then another ahead of her as the cyborgs took out an office building. 

“Oh, what’s that?” She heard Seventeen call out. 

“Fireworks—looks like something caught fire,” Eighteen mused. 

“Where’d the—AH—!”

Something slammed down through the glass roof. Fragments rained down over Seventeen when he hit a chute clogged with old boxes. 

Bulma made it to the far windows. Gohan appeared in front of it, grabbing her hand and pulling her up to him. “Nice one, Bulma.” He shot off into the sky.

“I helped!” Trunks told him. “It made everything explode—“

Bulma felt white-hot air. And then nothing. 

Gohan hit another wall of glass. He tried to hold onto Bulma and Trunks as he tumbled into an old building the smelled heavily of rotted fish.

Eighteen landed in front of him. “Nice try, I’ll give you that, Gohan. Seventeen’s an idiot on his best days. Let alone today.” She nodded towards Bulma. “Who’s that? Your aunt?”

“Well, sort of,” Gohan said, pushing himself to his feet. Bulma was unconscious. Her arms were streaked in blood. 

On the floor beside them, Trunks stirred, cringing a little as he sat up. “Mister Gohan—“ And then his mouth shut like a steel trap. Quiet. Like a good boy. His eyes fixed on Eighteen.

“Don’t fret, you little bastard—you’re no threat to me. Just stay where you are.”

Gohan looked between Eighteen and Trunks. “We can continue away from him then,” he told her.

“The world is a shit place, Gohan. The sooner he learns it, the better.” Her fist met Gohan’s face. The half-saiyan slammed through a concrete wall. 

Bulma jerked back into awareness. She felt the skin split down her arms as she shoved herself up. Trunks tried to help her. “Gohan!”

Eighteen had him pinned against a wall. She looked back at Bulma. 

Seventeen appeared behind the woman.

Trunks recoiled, throwing his hands out and blasting light at the other cyborg. 

“Ah—you little shit—“ Seventeen grabbed Bulma when she tried to protect her son. He threw her out the windows.

_“Mom!”_

And then Seventeen had the child. He backhanded him, tossed him into the air and blasted the tiny boy with a beam of energy. It burned into Trunks’ back, shredding his shirt and smashing him through the opposite wall of the processing plant. 

“Bulma! Trunks!” Gohan suddenly lit up in rage. In fear. In anger. He couldn’t feel Trunks or Bulma. They were dead. They were dead. They were dead because of _him_. They were—

He lit up inside and out, blazing like an inferno, as he felt that barrier break. 

When he became aware again, he was lying on a pier near the docks. It was full night-time. The cyborgs were gone. Gohan staggered up. Super Saiyan—he’d been one. He’d _felt_ it. He was sure of it. He—

“Bulma!” He saw her lying in the street. He raced to her side, stumbling to his knees as he dug out his sensu beans. He still had a sack of them and always made sure to bring a couple with him wherever he went. “Bulma! Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead!” He broke the bean’s shell and put it in her mouth. Her throat reacted instinctively, which seemed to rouse her as she swallowed it. She jerked up. 

“Gohan! You’re okay—where’s Trunks?”

“I don’t know—I—Bulma, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“Gohan—“

“It’s all my fault, Bulma. They’re all dead because of me. Because I’m so _weak.”_

“Gohan—come on. We have to look for Trunks.” She put a hand on his back—he was getting taller than her now but he still seemed so young. Well, he was, she supposed. He was only fourteen.

They found Trunks inside, arms broken but still alive—which made Bulma weak in the knees as Gohan fed him a sensu bean. His back was covered in molted scars from Seventeen’s blast—

 

 

 

\--and Eighteen could still see them under his tank top. How they ghosted down his muscled arm as he slammed his fist into the creature’s gut. It had been so insanely strong—so much stronger than them and yet, here was Trunks—taking the thing to the ground. Ripping off limbs like they were straw, tearing out its throat and then blasting it to ashes. 

Eighteen stared at him in stunned silence.

Videl, Jaida, and Mai landed on the road behind Trunks. 

Here it was. The moment of truth.

Trunks looked at the cyborgs as Seventeen landed next to his sister. 

“Why did you do that?” Eighteen broke the silence first.

“Because he was created to absorb the two of you, making him stronger and a pain in the neck. I had to wait for him to attack so that I that I could feel him.”

“So we were bait?” Seventeen ventured.

“You didn’t know,” Trunks said with a shrug. His eyes were strange. Cold and blue and dark. Something had changed. He was _different_.

The cyborgs exchanged looks.

“So are we even now?” Eighteen lifted her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

Trunks smiled a little. And that was, perhaps, the strangest thing of all. That odd little smile. “No. Never. I’d have to tear off your arms and then kill you both, Gero, all the other experiments, anyone who had ever been important to you. I’d have to kill both of you right now, knowing you had absolutely no chance and no way out. And I’d make sure you felt it before I killed you. Like you did to Gohan.”

“So what’s stopping you, kid?” Seventeen wanted to know.

“You spared my friends a time or two. You healed Mai and Jaida. So I thought I’d give you a chance to talk first.”

“Talk? What do you want us to say?” Eighteen scoffed.

“What are your names?” Trunks asked. His voice was strange too. Quiet. Calm. Very even. 

The cyborgs paused, looking at each other again. 

“What are your names?” Trunks asked again, louder. His aura flickered, flaring gold and lighting up the dark street. 

Seventeen looked beyond Trunks. Videl had an expression on her face like she wanted nothing more than for Trunks to shred them to a pulp. Jaida had no expression at all. She looked tired and resigned. But Mai was looking at _him_. At Seventeen. And again, he felt that weird _thing_ towards her. He met her gaze.

_This is your last chance._

He looked back at Trunks. “Lapis,” he said quietly.

Trunks eyes moved to Eighteen. She was staring at her brother like he’d grown a second head. She looked back at Trunks, then at Videl behind him and then scowled. “Lazuli.”

“This is the _only_ time that I will give you mercy,” Trunks intoned, his voice growling and rough. Almost like he hated it as much as Eighteen did. “If you ever hurt anyone ever again, I will kill you both in a heartbeat. Do you understand?”

Seventeen met Trunks’ eyes, watching him carefully. He nodded once. 

“Go,” Trunks commanded. 

Seventeen looked at Mai and then turned away, pulling Eighteen up with him and they shot into the air.

Trunks let his aura fade, his long hair falling back to his shoulders. He took a few deep breaths.

Videl went to him first. She didn’t say anything. She just touched his shoulder.

“I should have just killed them,” Trunks murmured. “They don’t _deserve_ mercy.”

Videl patted him on the back. She agreed. But he’d spared them. So that was that. 

“Neither did Vegeta,” Jaida said quietly. 

“Dammit,” Trunks swore and then shot off into the star-studded sky. 

Videl looked at Jaida. So did Mai. The witch looked at the ground. 

“He might not be able to forgive you for asking him to spare them,” Videl told her softly.

Jaida’s shoulders curled in, seeing her mother’s broken corpse on the burning airfield. “I know.”

Videl turned around and took off, heading back to Capsule Corp. Mai followed her. Jaida sat down on a bench, somehow perfect and undisturbed midst all the destruction, and sobbed.

 

 

Trunks drug his hands through his hair. When she’d asked him—he thought it seemed almost reasonable, given what he’d learned about Vegeta and watching Krillin with Eighteen and Sixteen. That there was a chance the cyborgs could turn away from all the wholesale slaughter. But when he faced them…all he could see was Gohan, both the adult and the child. The adult and the child—lifeless in the rain or desperately fighting Cell. Gohan sure had gotten the short end of every stick in every universe, most likely. 

He remembered Seventeen stepping on his temple, grinding his face into the dirt—not even worth killing. Just a momentary distraction, something to humiliate and then leave for dead. And now that he was finally strong enough to kill them as they deserved….

He’d spared them.

But just once—and that was the condition he had been firm on. They got one chance. If they fucked up, he’d murder them. With a righteous goddamn rage. But Jaida had asked—looking for the world like she’d rather be saying anything else—knowing he wouldn’t like it. Wouldn’t want to spare them. But she had managed to ask him—just once—to spare them. And then, yes, if they hurt anyone else—he could go ahead and kill them. But just give them one chance.

Maybe it was all the time he’d spent with his dad but deep down, he was hoping they would. Even if it was just one of them—fuck up—so that he could kill them both and rest easy for a while. No matter how strong he was—they were still out there with lots of squishy humans to kill if they felt like tempting fate. He’d fantasized about killing them since he was a child. 

And now he could.

But she’d _asked_ him not to. _Give them _one_ chance, please, Trunks._

He gritted his teeth and slammed his fist into the plateau he was kneeling on. He felt it crack all the way down into the earth. 

He took a deep breath. Mercy was the only reason he was here at all. He had to remember that. Goku had insisted that Vegeta be spared. He’d let him run away. And Vegeta had helped them later—grudgingly—but he had. And because of that, had met his mother. 

They may not have even liked each other much. They certainly didn’t appear to love each other. But there had been some kind of mutual respect, at least. No one loved each other, maybe. They were just waiting to die and wanted company, he supposed. 

Trunks sat down heavily on the chunk of plateau that remained. He took a deep breath and let all the rage drain out of him. Jaida was trying to do what was right. He knew that. He knew it when she came to him—and she’d been nervous and hesitant. She hadn’t wanted to ask. She wanted them dead too. They’d taken one of her eyes. But now she saw things. Like Baba did. And so she’d asked him anyway. He respected the courage that must have taken, knowing it would be safer to just kill them and be done with it. But she saw lots of things now. And it changed her perspective. 

He rested his chin on his knee. “This is probably how Goku’s friends felt when Goku spared my dad.”

In fact, he was pretty sure of that—because he’d spoken to Goku about why he’d spared Vegeta. 

_Because, Trunks—if you don’t know the value of mercy, then you might become exactly like your enemy. Sometimes it doesn’t work, yeah. I tried to let Freeza go—but he attacked me. I didn’t clean up the Red Ribbon army—and I destroyed everyone’s lives, including Vegeta’s. But when we have this kind of power—we have to be careful not to become our enemies. When you go back to the cyborgs, you won’t have anyone around to remind you, Trunks. Try to remember what you don’t want to become. And if the tables were turned—what would they do to you? And then do the opposite. That’s what I did for Vegeta. He hates me for it sometimes but…I just think that, at his core, he really wasn’t that bad. He was never taught compassion--so I showed it to him._

Of anyone who could have had that opinion—he wouldn’t have expected it to be Goku, his father’s greatest rival. 

_Vegeta did what he had to, to survive under Freeza. And I think he hates what he had to become._

After all, the Saiyan prince had settled on Earth instead of returning to Freeza’s collapsed empire as a conqueror. He could have been Lord Vegeta—but he hadn’t. He’d stayed on Earth instead. 

Trunks looked up at the starlit sky and breathed deep. The cold air was biting and fresh in his lungs. He didn’t want to become as harsh as his father. As silly as Goku could be sometimes…he had the right of it. 

Be someone you can still face when you’re alone.

He got up and headed back to West City. It was snowing by the time he arrived. Jaida’s windows were closed, curtains drawn, but he saw the glow of her lantern. It must have been difficult for them too, really. They hadn’t changed. He’d only been gone a day for them. But for him, it’d been two years. He’d changed. He could see it in the way his mother watched him. He was different. It was hard for them too. Not just himself. 

He went to her window and knocked.

 

 

Baba zipped into the medical bay of Capsule Corp. Bulma was currently out in her workshop, examining the goodies her other self had sent. The prize was a capsule simply labeled, ‘Time-Saver’. It was a ship. Bulma was outfitting it for travel to New Namek. Chi-Chi, however, was in the bay—watching over their still-unconscious guest. 

The woman looked up when Baba entered. “What is it?”

Baba studied the boy, floating over the bed and peering into him. “There’s something inside this one. It’s been dormant—he was badly hurt by something. Whatever is inside of him, it kept him alive. But now it’s stirring. The boy will wake up soon.”


	19. Chaotic Neutrals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo: Chaotic Neutral (The only one who can see it like it is.)  
> Vegeta: Chaotic Evil[?] Turned Chaotic Neutral (trope: anti-hero)  
> Goku: Chaotic Good (Trope: The Hero, Lovable Idiot)  
> Chi-Chi : Chaotic Good (trope: cooler than most of the cast but ignored by her male writer)
> 
> Gohan:  
> Predisposed to Chaotic Good through both parents (with an extra coin flip from Chi-Chi because of Human-Type Ability [+1 Coin Flip on Last Answer] is automatically tacked on after each branch in genetics no matter what either parent wanted.
> 
> Trained by: Chaotic Neutral --->Predisposed to Chaotic Good : Coin Flip, Tails [opposite]: Chaotic Neutral  
> Nearly killed/trained by Chaotic Evil--->Predisposed to Chaotic Good : Coin Flip, Heads [same]: Chaotic Good
> 
> Predisposal to Combat:  
> Goku: Predisposed (F-p,M-p)  
> Chi-Chi: Not Predisposed (M-NP, F-NP, Coin Flip: NP)  
> Piccolo: NP (F-Not Predis, +2 Coin Flips)  
> Gohan: **Not Predisposed** (M-NP, F-P, Piccolo-NP: CF(h) : (P), CF(p1) : P, CF(p2): NP]
> 
> Bulma: P (F-P, M-NP)  
> Vegeta: NP(F-NP, M-NP)  
> Future Gohan: NP (F-P, M-NP)  
> Trunks: **Predisposed** (M-P, F-NP, Gohan: NP; CF: P)
> 
> Trope versus Influence Genetics  
> 

The boy hadn’t come back. 

Vegeta was lying down. Only because he had to, of course. He’d been coated with burns and haunted by old enemies and allies alike all day—and all night. They were either in his dreams or they were in the chamber, taunting him. 

He let Cell reach his perfected form. And Cell had nearly killed him. And then nearly killed the boy. His grown son from the future hadn’t wanted to talk about what Cell had said to him before he left him there in the desert. Trunks had been tight-lipped with shame. With helplessness.

Vegeta…almost felt a kinship with that. He rejected it immediately, of course. But deep down, maybe it was still there, contemplating that Trunks’ struggle against the cyborgs and Cell were not dissimilar to Vegeta’s enslavement by Freeza. Except Freeza had, at least, had a reason. The cyborgs had none at all.

Except for fucking Kakorot. 

Another reason to hate that stupid bastard. Not for the boy’s sake, of course. Just—because Kakorot couldn’t be counted on to finish his fucking fights—now Vegeta’s son had to come back and….

Vegeta glared at the ceiling. _My son._

He didn’t know how to be a father. His own father hadn’t had much to do with him—except for to set him on a path to training. He’d never seen what others might consider a ‘father’ until he’d met Kakorot and his runt of a son. 

It meant, he supposed, caring about something more than fighting. The concept was completely alien to him. He didn’t understand it. Strength was the key to freedom. If you set your spawn on the course to strength—then you’ve already done more than was expected of you. The rest was rightfully up to them. 

The Saiyans were a warrior race—they’d conquered lots of planets. And if the inhabitants were similar enough in terms of reproductive organs (and sometimes, even if they weren’t)—rape wasn’t exactly uncommon. They didn’t encourage it—but no one did anything to stop it either. Vegeta didn’t much care for it—it felt cowardly to him—and he had a royal bloodline to think about. But he’d seen it. He’d been _forced_ to watch when he turned twelve. Not a memory he really cared to revisit. But over the years—he’d seen Nappa and Radditz and other Saiyans commit similar acts. The women were no different. Vegeta could explain, with a clinical dispassion, that cocks became erect and cunts became wet due to friction. It didn’t really have much to do with conscious desire. It was just the body reacting. Like blinking or breathing. If a female Saiyan wanted to rape a native inhabitant (whether male or female)—then she did it, one way or the other. Male Saiyans were obviously the same. Vegeta had long ago learned to tune out the sobs and begging—just like when people died. He shelled over inside. Because any hint of compassion would be taken for weakness. Freeza would kill him. 

(It was strange and different with Bulma. He’d never…seen sex that wasn’t about power or control. It was…strange. But…not altogether bad.)

Strength was freedom. If you were strong—then you could kill your enemies and no one could hurt you. No one could make you feel helpless. No one could make you do things that you didn’t want to do. No one could make you not _feel_.

He wondered for a moment what sorts of things Trunks had had to do because of the cyborgs. Was it all just desperate survival and fighting—or was there anything shameful behind that pretty face. The things that made him toss and turn all night, muttering in his sleep, crying out, waking soaked in sweat. 

Trunks’ nightmares were very intense. 

Vegeta could only scowl and listen. He didn’t know what to do about it—or even if he _wanted_ too. The dreams were the curse of every killer. They all had them. Even Kakorot must have had dreams of those he’d killed? Maybe? It was just something they all had to deal with. Waking the boy wouldn’t do any good. 

And yet….

Vegeta looked across the time chamber’s sleeping quarters to the second bed. It was still empty. The sheets were balled up at the foot—kicked off in the throes of a nightmare. Trunks was struggling so hard. He was trying so much that his desperation was nearly tangible. And Vegeta could see Trunks was inexperienced, despite his incredible power. 

_He surpassed me._

And the boy likely couldn’t even explain how or why. A super saiyan at thirteen—Vegeta couldn’t even fathom. But to become a legend and yet _still_ be weak….

In the end—the only difference between Kakorot letting Freeza power up to full strength and Vegeta letting Cell absorb Eighteen—was that the super saiyan form was stronger than Freeza. They’d both gambled. Kakorot had gotten lucky (of fucking course) and Vegeta had not (of fucking course).

Seems like that was usually how shit went around here. 

Vegeta grunted and got up from his bed. There’d be no sleep for him anyway. He stalked out into the white light of the time chamber, scowling at the endless expanse. The room seemed to peer into him, looking at every part of him, analyzing and drawing on his deeply buried sense of self. He spied a small dark smudge in the distance. 

Vegeta did not hurry—to hurry would betray the stupid nagging feeling about the boy. He couldn’t really explain it—just an urge to find him and at least make sure the stupid kid wasn’t dead. He would definitely get blamed if he left the Room and Trunks was dead. And he couldn’t really fault Kakorot’s friends for that (not to mention the woman)—he wouldn’t put it passed himself either, to be honest.

And yet….

He got closer and closer until he could see his son. His hair was growing out. He was bloody and unconscious, lying on the white expanse of ground or floor or whatever. Vegeta could hear him wheezing quietly, lungs struggling to take in the heavy air of the Chamber. No sense of self-preservation, no idea what his real limits were, just going and going and going until he collapsed. 

Vegeta could…well….admire that sort of determination. Gohan had none of that. Trunks had all the Saiyan fire for blood and combat—and yet somehow Kakorot’s runt got the raw power? 

But then again…Kakorot had likely trained _with_ Gohan.

Vegeta stared down at his son. Could he train with him? Knowing that Trunks would hesitate, wouldn’t know how much to hold back because as much as it irked him, Trunks _was_ stronger than him. And someone stronger than him constantly offering to train with Vegeta was….baffling. He couldn’t understand it at all. It didn’t make sense. If Trunks was stronger than him—why did he keep insisting on trying to impress him? It was bewildering. From any other warrior, it would feel like Trunks was mocking him. But….Trunks seemed completely sincere. 

Vegeta looked back at the living quarters of the Time Chamber. He knew the boy often observed him from afar, trying to learn—as Vegeta was clearly more experienced. Maybe he should try and observe the boy in return. Try to figure out why Trunks wasn’t mocking him. (Right?) 

The Saiyan prince reached down, grabbing Trunks by the shirt. He put him over his shoulder and flew back towards the living chambers. He dumped the boy in the other bed. Trunks didn’t wake. He shuddered, moaned softly in pain and then went still. 

Vegeta watched him until his breathing evened out. He felt the boy’s aura prickle, buzzing around him like that feeling you got when your limbs fell asleep. Vegeta scowled and headed for the kitchen. 

In the morning (or at least, what Vegeta presumed to be morning, as there was no night or day), the prince flew away from the living quarters. Trunks was still asleep. He needed to rest his body or he’d tear himself apart. Vegeta told himself he flew so far out so that he could train in silence. So that he wouldn’t wake the boy and then have him come out and watch him like a stupid puppy. He needed to just sleep and let his body repair itself. Or Vegeta would just have to get interrupted _again_ to carry him back to the living quarters. The Future Runt hadn’t even taught the boy to take care of himself—useless little shit. 

He even worked himself up into a scowl.

 

 

 

“I should go to new Namek,” Bulma said, arms folded as she sat back in her chair.

Trunks started to shake his head. “Mom—it could be dangerous—“

“You letting the cyborgs live is dangerous, Trunks. If you are truly going to give them a chance—then you need to stay here in case they suddenly feel like testing your boundaries. Namek is relatively peaceful and I’m the only one left that knows Dende. They don’t know you from jack, Trunks. It makes more sense for me to go.”

“You shouldn’t go alone—you—“

“Well, duh. I’m not going alone,” Bulma huffed. “I finished work on Sixteen. I’m going to wake him up. He’ll come with me. Hazard and Lancer volunteered to come with me. And Baba too.”

Trunks blinked, glancing sidelong at the witch.

She smirked. “Jaida can handle things here. I will go and protect your mother, boy.”

Trunks glared down at the table.

“You can’t be everywhere at once, Trunks. Choices have to be made. You’re strong enough now to kill the cyborgs and you chose to give them a chance to rethink their life choices. If you’re gone for two or three months and they decide they don’t want to play around anymore—then what?”

“Okay,” Trunks snapped, a bit more tersely than he’d intended. “I get it. I just don’t like it.”

“Good—then I’ll leave tomorrow,” Bulma said, briskly. “It’ll take me a month or so to get to new Namek with this ship the other me sent. Thank goodness for Other Me’s foresight on that one.”

“Maybe I’ll go too,” Chi-Chi mused. “Might be nice to get off-planet for awhile.”

Roshi and Trunks didn’t realize it—but they both looked up at her at the same time, studying her thoughtful expression. Of anyone—they’d have expected her to stay here and wait for the dragonballs to hopefully be brought back so they could wish back Gohan and the others. Maybe she had come to terms with all the death. Neither of them commented on it—they just watched her until she looked at Bulma. 

“That all right with you, Bulma?”

“Of course, Chi-Chi.”

 

 

The next morning was busy as Bulma dug out her old gear, pleased that it still fit—and got the ship ready. It was bigger than Kami’s old ship. It had individual rooms for the travelers, even. Baba came out last—as she’d been discussing their red-haired guest with Jaida. She expected him to wake up soon and wanted Jaida to be prepared just in case the kid ended up packing a bigger punch than she expected. 

Trunks didn’t seem as restless as he’d been when he’d left before. He helped his mother load up the ship and then waited while she said her goodbyes. He was trying not to think about what this trip could mean. If successful, they might be able to bring Gohan back—if he even wanted to come back. But Trunks was always expecting things to fail—they all did, it seemed like. At least, for him, Videl, Mai and Jaida. So he said nothing about Gohan. He just hugged his mother and wished her luck. He shook Chi-Chi’s hand and inclined his head respectfully to Baba. 

Sixteen was exactly like the one Trunks had met in the past. He was huge and quiet and thoughtful. He didn’t mention Goku at all, though. So Bulma must have tweaked that when she opened up his skull or whatever. In any case, the huge android spoke little. He just followed Bulma like an obedient, massive guard dog. 

“You sure about him?” Trunks asked her. “He’s strong—stronger than the other cyborgs, probably.”

“Yeah—I got him,” Bulma dismissed airily. “I have a failsafe remote for him and I changed his programing. Small potatoes compared to traveling through time.”

Trunks frowned but nodded. “If you say so, Mom. Be careful.”

“We’ll wish Piccolo back first—so if a giant green alien shows up—be nice. He’ll ask about Gohan, likely—so just tell him the truth. Keep the radar around—it should become active if and when the dragonballs return. Start collecting them right away—because I’m pretty sure the cyborgs can sense them too.”

“Shit—that figures. Of course they can,” Trunks grumbled, scowling.

Bulma smiled a little and patted his muscled arm. “No parties while I’m gone. I’ll see you in a month or two.” She kissed his cheek.

Trunks pulled his jacket off. “Here—it’s good luck, right? Your turn.”

Bulma looked at the worn denim for a long moment. And then she took it. “Thanks, sweetie.”

 

 

 

Far, far away, King Kai looked across his little planet. “Bulma’s going to New Namek.”

Gohan opened his eyes, sitting cross-legged in the air. “Hopefully it won’t be a repeat of last time.”

“Do you _want_ to go back, Gohan?”

“I know Trunks wants me to come back.”

“I’m not asking about Trunks, Gohan. I’m asking you. I’ve known you for a long time. I watched you on Namek. Your whole life has been death. You don’t have the same love for combat that Goku did. And there’s nothing wrong with that. The dragon will ask, if they wish you back. You won’t be brought against your will. When you died, I brought you here because I saw your spirit on Namek—and I saw how damaged you’d become. I brought you here so you could find peace before you passed on. But this is up to you. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Gohan looked at his hands. Plural. He had both of them again. “Will I get to keep my other arm?”

King Kai smiled a little. “Yes—they burned your remains so the dragon would create your body based on your spirit form.”

“How is my mom taking it?”

King Kai shuffled towards him. “She’s going with them to Namek instead of waiting on Earth for you.”

That made Gohan start, looking at King Kai. Then he looked at the grass. 

“I haven’t spoken to Trunks yet—but he’s now strong enough to beat both of the cyborgs and then some. I think maybe he saw me the first time I felt him—but he likely didn’t know who I was or what it meant. Bulma’s theory is correct—Trunks is a spirit Saiyan. He has the potential. I couldn’t see or feel him when he went into the Past but it’s possible he discussed it with Goku. Maybe they even tried it."

Gohan's eyes wandered away to Kai's lonely violet sky. He could never resent Trunks. Not ever. King Kai had been the one to tell him that Bulma had built a time machine. Time was the magic of gods, after all. He felt it when Trunks left their universe and the North Kai had gone still as stone very suddenly the next day when Trunks returned to it--aura blazing and roaring and silvery white.

King Kai watched him before he said, "There is no shame in wishing you could have done more, Gohan. But guilt isn't necessary. I know what you've been through. Only Goku was like Goku. He was singular. They put a lot of pressure on you. That wasn't fair to you, Gohan. You fight with your head rather than stubbornness. Thank goodness." The Kai chuckled, patting his round chest.

"King Kai....you knew my father very well."

"I did."

"What kept _him_ from turning out like Vegeta?"

North Kai tucked his hands behind him, looking thoughtfully at his tree before he said: "Goku laughed a lot because he knew he could never run from a fight. He was almost helpless to it. It was the one thing he didn’t know how to fight. His eyes would narrow and everything would _change_ just a little. Enough that he _saw_ the vibrations that he’d _felt_ as long as he could remember. Goku was a Saiyan but he was raised like a human. Humans have the great potential to simmer everything down to its bare essential—the _sixth_ sense. What makes them uneasy before a storm? What will they wake up from in a cold sweat, five years from now? It’s there and they command of it. And it can be honed and strengthened. Some of the great Kais have had human origins. Humans actually have more potential than they assume. They are the masters of adaptation. No other species has ever been known to adapt to genetic and cultural change—they die until they learn not to die. And then they walk around a lot because they get curious. Why else would Earth, specifically, need a Guardian when so many other planets don’t have them?”

“The chaotic neutrals of the galaxy,” Gohan said, looking thoughtful.

“Yes and the very great among them—some of them will be _great-great_. Earth is the planet that spawns humans that can potentially absorb the genetic pros of another species through prolonged contact.”

Gohan's head tilted. “Are you suggesting that Earth has a Guardian because _we_ were a threat to the _rest_ of the galaxy?”

King Kai smiled. “You were so good, you even fooled you, Gohan. But a species with so much potential builds itself up, wants to rise as far as they can _adapt_. A few clever ones taught the others to fight. They had the bare essentials but they adapted quickly. The best among _them_ were chosen as leaders and mentors and teachers. Someone teaches the children. How to use that extra sense. And someone teaches Goku how to use his energy like a human—and he has no idea why but it feels like someone just pulled some bolts loose on a flooding dam and the more he looks at his Saiyan power like a _human,_ the more he gets to feel like he’s reaching his potential. It’s like an itch in his mind. Saiyans are not _born_ with that sense but it can be taught. But they _could_ use their energy in visible forms, which humans had not mastered. It made them insanely powerful. But blunted. They will never _see_ as sharply as you’ve been _bred_ to see, Gohan. Goku had to learn what you were _born_ with. The adaptability of a human, the ability to relatively easily sense energy because humans are honed to the universe instinctively. With the Saiyan ability to flood the body with power absorbed from their surroundings like a sponge. They could _learn_ to sense energy but it did not come naturally. The more power one has inert, the more they can be felt. It is innate for you and Trunks to have _both_. You can draw from the world around you or you can focus on the energies of the universe. One is not inherently better than the other. They simple are. Who was the stronger of Piccolo and Vegeta?” 

Gohan shrugged at King Kai. “I don’t know. We don’t know. They never fought.”

“Exactly, Gohan. Vegeta was brutal but blunted. Piccolo was the embodiment of hurt and darkness expelled from a host. He felt your energy more keenly than _any_ of the others because he _knows_ how humans adapt. Paired with your Saiyan half, you have massive potential for all different kinds of strength. Goku and his friends probably thought that meant only raw power but neither Piccolo or Vegeta could fight what they’d been raised to be. Until they met you. They were the extremes of the extremes of their races—and you were the only one who could somehow effect _both_. You were uniquely suited to be Piccolo’s student. I wonder if he knew, deep down.”

Gohan stared at him. “Vegeta was….effected by _me?_ Are we talking about the same guy?” 

Kai smiled at him and adjusted his sunglasses. “More than you know, Gohan.” 

“So Piccolo is the adapt-to-the-max side of me and Vegeta is the brutal punch-everything-really-hard side of me, and I somehow became someone right in the middle. So which one doesn’t like to fight?”

“Neither of them _liked_ to fight,” Kai answered with a knowing little smile. “Maybe that’s why they never fought.”

Gohan’s mouth fell open. _Oh. Oh wow._

“Gohan, you didn’t like combat either—but, like Vegeta _and_ Piccolo, you had everything taken from you and you fought back. Often for your own survival.”

“I _had_ to—“

“No, you didn’t,” Kai said simply, shrugging his thick shoulders. “You could have given up like everyone else did. You were selfless, Gohan. Like you’ve always been. That purity of spirit, the peace in you—is what makes you unique. There are other powers you can awaken through that, if you choose to pursue it.”

“I don’t know if I want to, King Kai…..”

“That’s okay too,” the god answered. “Just know that it’s open to you.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, I’m gonna miss you, Gohan. You were never as loud as Goku or his friends. I liked that about you.”

Gohan chuckled. “I haven’t decided yet, King Kai.”

The god winked at him. “Right, of course.” He nodded to him and turned around, walking back to his house with his hands clasped behind him.

 

 

 

When they landed on New Namek a month and a half later, Baba breathed relief. “Finally. Not recycled air. Ugh. Your energies are all filthy. Get out of that thing.”

A large group of Namekian elders had arrived to greet them outside their largest city (about the size of a village or small rural town).

“Bulma!” A young Namekian ran up to her. “You made it!”

“Dende? Dende!” Bulma lost her head, throwing her arms around the Namekian in a hug. “Oh my shit, it’s good to see you, kid. Oh wow—you’re so tall now!”

“Is Gohan with you?” Dende asked eagerly.

Bulma watched Dende’s expression die with hers.

“Gohan is dead, Dende,” Chi-Chi said, expressionless. “It’s why we’re here.”


	20. Porunga, Dragon of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks/Jaida  
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> “Yeah, that’s a whole other…..wow. Wow. The books I could now write after that year with him in the time chamber.” Trunks shook his head at his knees, still smiling faintly. “I had never seen someone so… _conflicted_. Ever. And I don’t think I ever will again. 
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> Dragonballs : Porunga  
> Wishes made: 3
> 
> Music: A Trial of Crows and Blood, by CryoChamber: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bomNTwVokGE&index=16&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO  
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eighteen—perfect, beautiful Eighteen—swung that powerful leg around and _smashed_ it into Vegeta’s arm.

Krillin stepped back from the ledge. “Oh holy shit, guys. This is, uh, kinda not-good. I’ve seen this guy at murderous. Piccolo, you can take them, righ—“

“Father!” Trunks felt everything inside of him choke and then he was moving. Couldn’t even register. A flash of Vegeta’s rage and pain and the crippling affirmation that he’d severely fucked up and _terror_ of _death_ , insignificant and smothering—

And Trunks heard the scrape of metal as he pulled his sword, shining out with that golden aura-- _bloody eyes in the rain_ \--to protect his father— _like I couldn’t protect Gohan_ \--

He’d done this before. In his time. He’d done it less than a month ago. He’d felt it, seen it, tasted her rage when he embedded the sword in her arm—

And the jarring, cold taste of blood in his teeth as this time, in _this_ time—his sword gave. The edge splintered like a crystalline spider web and then _shattered_.

_Oh. Butterfly effect._

And then Seventeen smashed into him from above.

Krillin yelled but Piccolo and Tien ignored him. So Trunks had a reckless streak, wow. Somehow, Krillin hadn’t expected it from the well-mannered young super saiyan from the Future. But he _was_ Vegeta’s kid. Oh yeah, guys, remember less than an hour ago when he went the color of milk when he saw _his_ cyborgs? And then flipped out with rage and terror and total panic when Eighteen leaned over the chamber containing Android Sixteen—he’d lost total control of his aura—making everyone back away from him. The boy was unpredictable, apparently. And also had no idea how to cap his power or if he even _had_ a cap. Like Goku when he was a kid—

Tien swore—right, this _kid_. He was only fucking seventeen years old, maybe eighteen? Jesus fucking shit! The kid just…felt like he fit in already. He was lonely, like so many of them were. He had no one else, like so many of them. And he was strong but…also kind. Respectful to everyone, despite being so powerful—like Goku was.

They wouldn’t have stepped in for Vegeta—but Trunks was different. He was just so goddamn sincere. Tien and Piccolo were unconsciously reminded of Goku. Because of any of them, only Goku would have automatically stepped in for Vegeta. Only Goku jumping in would remind them that Vegeta _was_ on their side. In a way.

And in another time, this young man knew his father only as a muttered name in a hushed tone. And he wanted so much to see all of them live—and only seventeen years old—and everything he did had this desperate edge to it. Every nervous twitch and uncontrolled stumbling in combat—when he pushed himself up and instead of gaining distance to get out of Eighteen’s range—he dashed at her. He forgot that he wasn’t fighting alone—just saw his father or Gohan or something the rest of them couldn’t—and flew off the handle. He didn’t know how to fight with a group because he’d _never had one._

Piccolo seemed to register all this in seconds and jumped in, Tien followed. Eighteen used Vegeta like a deadweight—clearly seeing Trunks awkwardly try to get closer, knowing he’d hesitate when she had his father (interesting, her data had no mention of Vegeta having a teenaged son). She knew all about Gohan—but nothing about this purple-haired kid who, from the moment he’d laid eyes on her and Seventeen, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. The others were wary and scared—but for this teenager, it was different. She saw total terror. As if he actually _understood_ how outclassed they were. Wasn’t that kind of weird? He looked like a guy watching everything unravel around him and helpless to stop it. Which, yeah, would totally make sense—except she’d never met this kid before. Or any of Goku’s friends. They thought they had a chance—only the kid kept crowing about how they needed to get the hell out of here. 

“Mystery kid ain’t half bad,” Seventeen said, hands on his belt and smirking down at the group. “He’s never fought with these guys before though, I’d guess.”

Eighteen laughed. She pointed at Tien. “So the green guy and that bald guy—they know how to move around each other.” She pointed at Vegeta. “Nobody likes this asshole.” She pointed to Trunks. “And they don’t know enough about him to have figured out how to fight alongside him but these two jumped in regardless. Only the little guy over there had the sense not to. So they like Purple Haze or they’re stupid.”

“I mean, why not both?”

“Let’s go—I need a new jacket.”

“C’mon Sixteen—let’s rock and roll.”

 

 

 

“And then they left us there,” Trunks said somberly, unsheathing his two-handed sword and laying it on the table.

Jaida gasped quietly, leaning over the artifact and touched the jagged edge. “Oh…”

“Where did you get a _sword_ anyway?” Videl asked. 

“I found it—back when someone still had a running caravan that went from one city to the next—trading for items. One of the items this one guy had was a sword. This sword. I traded three capsules of emergency supplies for it. I never told my Mom—she would have been furious if she’d known. But, I dunno why, I just….it seemed right, I guess.”

“So no one taught you how to use it?”

“No goddamn way,” Yajirobi grumbled.

Trunks shook his head. “Well, no. Gohan showed me the basics and I took it from there--because Gohan could fight with weapons, but he preferred hand-to-hand. I wouldn’t say it came naturally but…once I got the idea to use it in practice for honing energy—it just clicked.” He snapped his fingers in the air. “The first time I tried it, a light came on. I’m not sure how else to describe it.” 

“There was something special about it,” Jaida said, touching the ice-sharp edge that was still intact. “Maybe Mai could make you something with it. We can’t just throw it away. The sword found _you.”_

“Found me?”

Jaida peered at it, touching the metal with her spirit. “There’s magic imbued in this. It’s heavy and old—it needed a strong spirit to use it properly.” She smiled a little at Trunks.

“Maybe a saber, instead?” Mai mused, looking at the blade. “Have you ever dual-wielded swords, Trunks?”

“No—I only ever had this one.”

Videl looked thoughtful. “You know…I bet you’d be really good at dual-wielding, Trunks.” 

Mai looked at Videl and then back at the cracked sword. “Well, if you don’t mind, Trunks—I can certainly give it a try. There’s enough of whatever this sword is made of to make a matched set of swords. Though we’d need to be careful—I haven’t worked with a lot of enchanted weapons. I don’t want to break the magic.”

“You wanna wait for Bulma?” Videl suggested.

“Well…I think I can do it,” Mai said, rubbing her chin. She looked to Trunks.

He shrugged. “Hey, I trust you, Mai.”

She smiled, a little shy and gently picked up his weapon to sheath it.

 

 

In the meantime, Videl went to the gym at the far side of the compound with Trunks. She’d armed both of them with a long wooden practice sword to each hand. Trunks shifted his shoulders, feeling how his attention divided—different from have the singular point of focus with the broadsword. It split but didn’t feel overwhelming. He flipped each stick in his hands, unconsciously seeming to test his coordination.

“So my dad was a blowhard but he was a good martial artist. And before the cyborgs, we were wealthy. So I had some of the best martial artists in the world as my teachers. Present company and associated crew excluded, of course. I started into combat weapons almost from the beginning. Short swords were my first love. I saw them and I knew I wanted them. I wasn’t sure why—not then. But one of my teachers told me that our minds unconsciously will attempt to give sentience to items around us. Like how we can see faces in toast crumbs or in clouds or on the moon. A weapon can speak to the fighter. A fighter unconsciously associates weapons with a certain element of sentience, what they _feel_ towards it. In the same way roses came to represent love, even though they have nothing to do with love at all. We _gave_ it that meaning. But the sword you had was magic or something. So I guess we need to know if you have an affinity for swords in general—or if it was because that sword was special.”

Trunks nodded, watching her form a relaxed stance, arms loose like one would for a poleaxe or spear, the blunted edge of the wooden staff pointing down—letting the weight carry it down. She slid forward—kept her feet nimble and quick. There was no need for the force of the singular broadsword, not when Videl could spin up for momentum, attaching gravity to her wooden swords and _smashing_ it into him like a sledgehammer to concrete.

It caught him totally off-guard. Which meant two things:

One: Videl laughed herself silly at Trunks having to push dirt and chunks of plastic flamingoes off of himself.

Two: Trunks suddenly realized what Eighteen had meant by accusing him of being _so nice_ those couple weeks (years) ago. He talked a good game but the same thing all his mother’s friends had done to him (until they got to know him), he had done to Videl. He had pitied her. So he trained her but never actually expected her to get strong enough to match the super saiyan form. 

“Wow,” he said softly, rubbing dust out of his hair. “I feel like a jerk.” He smiled. “All this time you’ve been my friend and I was trying to find Gohan through you. I feel like I expected you to be dead by now. I didn't even realize how strong you'd become with that gravity.”

Videl’s grin faded into something more thoughtful. “Well, to be honest, it seems like that’s kind of been the pattern.”

Trunks snorted on a soft laugh. “You’re not wrong.” Trunks suddenly straightened a little. “You know, I just thought….I mean—I didn’t—but it didn’t hit me until right now. If Gohan comes back…you’ll….get to meet him.”

Videl blinked, felt her chest seize a little. “Oh….oh, yeah, I guess I will.”

Trunks laughed a little, rubbing his fingers into his hair. He looked restless but not displeased. “I hope you like him. I think you will,” he insisted, as if she needed convincing. “He’s….the best friend I ever had.” 

Videl watched him think of the younger Gohan from the Past. 

“Trunks?”

The younger looked at her curiously, tensing a little. “….what?”

“Why don’t you tell me about him?”

Trunks’ eyes lit up. “I…are you sure? I mean—you don’t have to—“

“I want to. Come on, Trunks. I’ve been dying to ask you how it went with Gohan.”

Trunks settled down, bouncing one knee. “Right, so. He’s….he was….both like I remembered and yet—really different too. And he was so _young_. It was totally different from the Gohan that I knew here. But…not completely. There were shadows of the man Gohan became here and echoes in him that I can now see in the child. It was surreal. And amazing. He was so _smart_ when he was eleven. I was dumb as bricks.”

Videl burst out laughing.

“I wish I could have trained with him.” Trunks sighed a little to himself. “I never even got the opportunity to really _talk_ to him. To help him understand the person that I knew him as. That was something I struggled with there…I couldn’t train with him because of Goku, my father and Piccolo. The way they kind of…presided over everyone was a little strange. They directed who got to train with who and stuff.” He huffed. “And yeah, I know, we had to prepare for Cell—best to let the senior staff sort it out. They have the experience. But they also had to contend with Vegeta’s ego. Piccolo can be held accountable to Goku and Goku holds himself accountable to Piccolo. But who does my dad hold himself accountable to? No one. Fucking no one. He did not give a _shit."_

“I could kind of admire that,” Videl said.

“Yeah, it _sounds_ great, right? It’s awesome until he starts being a jackass, which was every five or six seconds.”

“This guy sounds kinda crazy intense.”

“He is. Yes. If I had been allowed to train with Goku in the time chamber, when I’d already been forced to show everyone that I’d surpassed my father—he would've never forgiven me. Or he’d try to kill me out of spite.”

“Isn’t he your _dad?_ Holy shit. I mean, even my dad _liked_ me. I think,” Videl laughed. 

“Yeah, that’s a whole other…..wow. Wow. The books I could now write after that year with him in the time chamber.” Trunks shook his head at his knees, still smiling faintly. “I had never seen someone so… _conflicted_. Ever. And I don’t think I ever will again. 

His smile widened. “But Gohan though—he was so young. But he was curious and kind and he just wanted to _help_ people. Realizing how he’d grown up and been exposed to so much bloodshed and torture and just all these terrible things—and all he wanted was to just get away from it. But he couldn’t. How does someone not become jaded and bitter after that? And he was friends with my mom. Ha—because he’d read all the books she owned. She treated Gohan like her little brother. The same way she treated Goku. All these things from when I was a baby that I can’t remember—or maybe only half-remember from my infant years—and I suddenly got to step back and examine both halves of Gohan and reflect on why he’d turned out the way he had. It was….humbling. Or something. It just…made me really look at the possible effects of time travel. Made me really _think_ about it. It was too late, by then—I’d already traveled back. But it made me start thinking about what I could do to help both our universes. You can’t predict chaos. You can only brace for it. Then deal with it when it happens.”

“Organized chaos. The most dangerous kind. Like your dad."

“Yes, exactly that, but on a galactic scale. That was my Dad.”

 

 

Three hours later, they headed back for the main living area of the compound. Jaida was parked by Bulma’s rig, four handsets mounted in a row. She appeared to simply be listening to Dizon talk about how no one had heard anything about the cyborgs and was she _sure_ she didn’t know what was going on?

Or Bandit on one-forty-one, reading The Christmas Carol—that made Jaida’s hand hesitate on the dial. And then she pulled her fingers away, letting Bandit read on as she put her head down on the desk. Something strange and sad crossed her face and then Videl clapped him on the shoulder and left him to it.

He approached like a ghost, walking up behind her and gently touching her shoulder. 

He felt the hum of her aura shift and then move back. This familiar feeling of resignation clouded her aura. She sat up from the desk and looked at him. “What is it?”

“Nothing bad—you just looked…tired, for a minute.”

They were alone in the workshop and he stood over her and there was something more settled in him, more secure, maybe more all right with who he was. It always got worse before it got better and Trunks had told them about the trials he’d faced in the past. To go through so much and still not be broken, to remain a cautious, kind warrior; to have done so many amazing things but he’d never looked at her like he was right now—was she even _seeing_ anymore? 

She felt fingertips brush against her collar before curling his fingers into her hair, sharp and something almost possessive. Her vision was tunneling, seeing only him in the dim candlelight as the snow fell. A heated breath into her ear, his other hand was hot as a brand, finding skin. He shifted into her, breathing in her scent at her throat. That was all it took for her head to fall back. Errant snow landed on her from the hole in the metal sheet roofing of the workshop. The candle tipped or went out. Something cagey and rough went through him—his hands weren’t nearly so cautious or light. They were heavy and hard and rough. And that was so much _better_. When he’d stopped at her window to talk and she had, of course, invited him in. Like some kind of super saiyan vampire book. Anyway, and she heard all the verbal cues and ticks that she knew well enough to read his feelings with just a glance— _that’s Trunks_. He just seemed _different_. His aura had changed—blending between realms as he touched his future, in the past, while in his present. His glow had changed, something white, almost silvery. It was so incredibly beautiful. The arrested breath, like crystals and fractals in cold ice. And the burning core within.

Hot shame that it sent a lick of heat between her thighs, feeling him shudder against her when he sensed it. Raw, blistering, desire. But this time, the hum of the radio buzzed behind her and Trunks shoved the handsets aside, pinning her against the desk. This time he pressed against her, and he grabbed her to hold her still, grinding between her thighs and pressed their mouths together.

They both shuddered, grinding hard to a stop and carefully pulling back. She looked a bit shaken but her eyes were still glossy and dark. He raised his eyebrows in question.

She nodded, sliding an arm around him. He grabbed her up and flew out of the compound. Probably for the best. His mother being less than thirty feet away always made him paranoid. The cold air also gave him a chance regain his bearings. Everything was buzzing in his head, he really needed to get himself under control— 

He forgot as soon as they landed on her balcony. She glanced up at him under the fringe of her hair before quickly looking away and opening the balcony door. She held it for him, but he shifted forward to press her against the glass. She rocked up against him, fingers grabbing into his hair and the other hand pushing his jacket off. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand while he shrugged it aside. He twisted her hands behind her back, using them as an anchor to pin her against him as he walked her inside. He felt her leg lock around him and he dropped her on the bed. 

Jaida felt the heat of him shift up her body, lighting her up inside and out. Never felt it quite so intense before. Eyes darkened to indigo and he _bit_ her and it sent the most heady flood of something over her that made everything go fuzzy as her ears sharpened on his breathing. That scent of spice and leather. The electrical storm he left when he kissed her—maybe that was the saiyan part? The hard plane of taut muscle, the surety in his grip on the back of her neck when he palmed her nipple. It hardened in his fingers, pulling taut and sensitive and he worked his way down to taste there. She dug her fingernails into his back, felt a lifetime of scars and battle wounds. He found her mouth again, breathing in with her when he slid his cock up against her. She was slick and wet, gushing. It would be nothing to slide up into that hot soft clutch of her. But instead he slid himself over her, slicking himself up by rubbing her clit. Her hips jerked and he had to grab her to keep her still. He ground against her again, eyes dark and calm, humming with _intent_. Saw her eyes flicker in heat from desire and also from a dozen other deep-seated feelings that she did not discuss that would shed some light on why she wanted him to hold her down by the neck. Why he wanted to do it and also feel her heartbeat go erratic and loud when he entered her. She moaned, shuddering around him. He pulled back once, slammed up into her and then grabbed her hips again, holding her so he could _fuck_ her. Watch her writhe on her back or on her front or on the floor—it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting to feel the _pulse_ inside of her, pulling her up into his lap, impaling her deeper. Her spine arched against his chest and he rubbed between her thighs to sooth her. Make her come around him again—those hard pulses of pleasure that made her pant for breath and cry out and _moan--_

And she was actually using the bed now instead of the rolling cot. Pining her to it felt _good_. Trapped her wrists with one hand, massaged her breast with the other. She bucked up against him and came like she’d received an electric shock. She clamped down on him, making his eyes roll back for a second. 

He grunted and swore softly in the dark and then he came inside of her, fucking her through it and both of them groaning raggedly. Heard her go high and reedy every time he bottomed out, aiming for that spot. She came again, shuddering all over. Trunks kept his hand on her breast when he sunk down on top of her. 

“I felt you die. When Cell killed you. I’m so glad you made it back,” she murmured, barely above a whisper. Her grip suddenly tightened around him, muffling a stilted sob into his shoulder.

 

 

 

The boy woke up alone in what looked to be a dormitory or sick bay. Everything was white and sterile and strange. But it was clean too. Everything gleamed. No bloodrust all over the tools here. Unless this was just a front-- _or an illusion!_

The boy scrambled out of the bed, falling onto the floor and stumbling up. He searched his person for anything familiar but found nothing. Just some kind of unarmored sheet draped around him. First things first, find gear. He didn’t seem to be injured, which surprised him, given what had happened on Typhtan. He could still feel Bootlaces inside of him, of course, but it was unnaturally quiet. Almost like it sensed something familiar. Like, oh hey, maybe your upper body?

 _Dammit, Tap. What the fuck and a half?_

He came to some kind of fortified door. It appeared to be locked. It showed no enchantment and yet he saw the energy within it connect leylines into the ground. This planet’s magic was _strong_. He created a bubble of light. A woman was watching him warily. She had shiny blue eyes and she was holding the door before and behind him. 

“Let me out! I need to get out of here! Where am I!”

“Earth, where are you from?”

“Konats.”

“Where the hell is that?”

“Where the hell is Earth?”

And then Mai entered from the side with his gear in a large box. He stiffened, watching the woman look at his spirit sword and then suddenly _stop_.

He jumped a little, studying her expression. She _recognized_ it. But _how?_ She looked right at him and then at the others. “I can hear Trunks.”

He entered the medical bay. The red-haired boy stepped away from the glass of his prison. The one they called Mai went right to Trunks, touching his arm and showing him the sword.

The young man, who was brimming with power like a pool of sparking gold, looked puzzled. “Oh—my sword—not enough for sabers, then—?”

“That’s _MINE!”_

Trunks did a double-take. “What?” He unsheathed the weapon. It could have been his sword. It was his sword’s twin, in any case. He looked back at the boy while Mai raced out to get his sword. “Who are you?”

“My name is Minotia! You have to left me _go!_ My brother is in mortal peril! I need my gear. I won’t hurt anyone while awake—but me losing control here would not be good! Please, let me go!”

“Your brother—?”

And then Mai walked in with the sword. 

His sword. _Tapion’s_ sword. The matching sheaths and enchantments, the leylines of power that connected the wood into the ground. The edge was _crushed_ \--

He burst into light. The red-haired mop floated above his eyes. “Where is Tapion! What did you do to him?!”

Trunks raised his palm to shield them. The boy was dangerously close to something—some strange energy. “I bought this sword from a caravan almost ten years ago. But if it belonged to someone you loved—then you can have it. I just need you to calm down. Let’s talk before you fly off the handle.”

The boy hesitated, fingers spidering in the air—half-drawn lines and intersecting points that drew power to the central location—like the ability Trunks had used on Freeza. It honed energy into a spider web. And—Trunks started a little. 

The red-haired boy was connected to the ground. By light, by the lines of energy. Trunks had started to see them after he’d worked with the sword. He’d chalked it up to simply seeing the afterimages of energy or something. It worked—was the important thing. They helped guide him sometimes. Because using the sword along the planet’s natural leylines increased its speed and strength. It allowed him to deliver a pinpoint killstrike or it could shatter the leylines of energy, letting Trunks manipulate them for a few seconds to get his sword where he needed it—like when he diced Freeza into pieces. He shouldn’t have had _time_ to make the cuts that he did in the time that he did it. 

It was like slowing down pieces of the world, warping it for just a moment and instead of losing momentum—he gained it. Sort of like how Videl could use gravity to—

The harnessed energy on the edge of his sword—how it felt so balanced—

The strength and power of the strike, cutting _into_ Eighteen’s arm in his Future—but in the other Past, his sword was shattered. 

Videl was staring at the kid, apparently having realized the same thing. “You see the lines too?”

Trunks peered at her. “Yeah. I do. So, you do too?”

“Yeah—I didn’t realize it at first—I thought it was just me being more aware of my energy after I started training with you. But I started seeing…I don’t know—not lines exactly…but paths. Paths to…like….when Chi-Chi explained how Earth’s energy works and I felt like I knew the answer to using it….if I could just go through the steps…follow the paths I saw suddenly in my head. But I just kinda thought that everyone probably sees them.”

Oh yeah….she remembered wondering if Chi-Chi had taught Gohan to look at the world like that. 

“Hey! Not to interrupt or anything!” Minotia pulsed against the glass, it shattered around Videl’s central focus point. He dashed her leylines aside and flashed out the door. He smashed into her, would have slammed her through the wall—except the guy grabbed him first. He whipped around to _punch_ \--

And he _saw_ the intricate detail of his aura—silver-blue and blinding gold—incredible. He had to be as strong as Tapion. And if he used Tapion’s sword—then he must _be_ similar to him in some way. The sword wouldn’t instruct just anyone. Spellswords were picky. It was partially why he and Tapion had been chosen to bear them. And if Trunks had found it as a child and…..

Minotia pulled his fist back. Trunks had already stopped, searching the boy’s feelings, knowing something strange, yet familiar, in his aura. Something that made Minotia hesitate. “How did you come to my brother’s sword? Did it _teach_ you?”

Trunks stared at him. “I traded a caravan for it. Almost ten years ago, probably.”

“And only you have used it? No one else?”

“Well, no. My mentor, Gohan—he didn’t really work with weapons. I chose it myself.”

“What do you see? After you started using the sword—did you start to see the lines into the ground?”

“Yes…I read up about it—um, I think they’re called leylines?”

Minotia stared at him. “Well….I guess that makes sense that they’d send Tapion to a planet so powerful in spirit energy.”

“Who is Tapion?” Videl asked.

“My brother. If you got his sword than that means his case has been opened. And if his case has been opened then Hoi may have found him already. Either that or the enchantment was broken.”

“Meaning what?” Videl asked.

“Have you had any problems lately with society-destroying monsters?”

Trunks sighed softly, rubbing his hand down his face. “I don’t suppose they’re human-looking?”

Minotia frowned, not certain he understood the question. “Well, it’s just one. It’s…big. Has claws. Um. Big feet. Murderous.”

“Ah, okay. Different set of problems.” Trunks sounded relieved, until he realized what he was saying and sighed to himself again. “Okay, so we haven’t seen anything like that. As far as I remember.”

“You’d remember. My brother is inhabited by the top half of the monster and I host the lower half. So if you’d seen him first—it would just be the top half of it crawling around.”

“Oh. Awesome. Great.”

"Wow, that sounds terrifying," Videl chuckled.

“Your brother looks like you, right? We can do a search for him. Baba showed me how,” Jaida said, looking at the others for confirmation. “Provided he’s not too far away—I might be able to get a general direction.”

“Are you a sorceress?” Minotia asked.

“Well, uh…I guess I’m a witch?” She shrugged. “That’s what Baba calls herself, anyway. I can use magic now.”

“Good,” said the boy. You have a universal attunement instead of the world around you—like these two.” He pointed at Videl and Trunks. “Our wizards were more similar to you. My brother and I were spellswords.” 

“Well, let’s get Chi-Chi’s wheel then,” Mai suggested and headed out into the compound. 

Trunks stayed with Minotia while he dressed and checked all his gear. When they went to rejoin the women, Jaida had already set up the nocturlab and Videl was bringing in some grave dirt. 

“Blood magic?” Minotia asked, sounding a bit suspicious.

“Yes—it uses power in someone’s blood. Just a drop—nothing more than that,” Jaida said, as Mai drew a small knife to slice everyone’s thumbs. The Konat offered his out immediately. 

Trunks stayed by her side—remembering how Roshi had drawn energy from him. Jaida and Mai arranged the board and then she invoked, using their blood as waypoints into the planet’s well of spirit energy. She felt Minotia’s immediately, sticking out like a sore thumb with that monster inside of him. But the reaction of the compass was nearly immediate. Perhaps it was the proximity of the brother—he must be on Earth. The compass jumped and spun, pointing to the north-western quadrant of the nocturlab. 

“I didn’t feel anyone touch back that time,” Trunks reported. It also didn’t make his lungs feel weird.

“He may not be conscious—but we did get a direction—so he’s probably still alive.”

“Can we go find him? You, witch—come with me? And then when we get to this area, we can do this again?”

Jaida glanced at the others. 

“I’ll go with you,” Mai said. “Leave those two here in case the cyborgs attack, right?” She nodded to Trunks and Videl. 

Trunks huffed a little. “I don’t like all this splitting up that we’re doing—but all right. Just—if you need help-- _call_ us.”

“Of course, Trunks,” Mai laughed and headed to the storage lab for supplies.

“If you’re not back in three days, we’ll come looking for you,” Videl told them sternly.

 

 

 

Dende sighed softly, looking over the multitude of books, photographs, charts and blueprints that Bulma had shown for them. The Grand Elder and the other Elders all sat in a huge semi-circle around the travelers from Earth. Many of them knew Bulma, a few had been saved personally by Gohan. Case in point: Dende.

The young Namekian looked to the Grand Elder. “They saw the Past—I trust them. They saved our lives. The least we can do is let them summon Porunga. And if it pleases the council, I’d like to go with them to Earth.”

Bulma started a little. “Dende….?”

“The Other Past was able to take me as a Guardian when Piccolo and your Kami were forced to fuse. I would like to volunteer to take the position, to help them as they helped us.”

“What about Kami?” Chi-Chi asked.

“Kami will be free to stay at the Lookout if he wishes. There is precedent of Guardians staying on as guides to new Guardians. Otherwise, he’ll be free to go.”

“Dende, do you realize that taking the role of a Guardian….it’s not a decision to be made lightly,” the Grand Elder said gently.

“Saving me from Freeza wasn’t a decision to be made lightly either, but Gohan made it. And now he’s dead. The cyborg monsters killed him.” He bowed to the council. “Please, with your blessing, I want to go.”

The Grand Elder studied him for a long moment. “All right, then. Gather Purunga’s legacy and we will give the Earthlings three wishes.”

Bulma and Chi-Chi beamed at each other. It seems almost instinctive, how they suddenly just grabbed each other in a tight hug. Chi-Chi sniffed a little and Bulma whooped and laughed. 

Within the hour, it was done.

The Grand Council gathered in an outdoor auditorium. Many other Namekians had gathered to spectate, as well as a few other intergalactic visitors in the nearby market. 

Dende officiated over the ceremony. An Elder stood by each dragonball and Dende stood before them with Bulma and Chi-Chi. Lancer was watching everything in a sort of stunned silence. Hazard was fascinated by how _strange_ the Namekians _felt_ to him. Their auras were so distinct. And they reflected feelings like building rogue waves at sea. 

Dende spoke old Namekian to the dragonballs and they flared with bright light.

“Holy _shit!”_ Lancer jumped back. “God _damn!”_

Hazard stared up sightlessly. “I have never in my life felt closer to seeing than I have right now.”

One of the Namekians looked at Lancer and said, “Where did you get that hat? It’s really great.”

Baba floated high above them to meet the mighty Porunga’s eyes. She bowed her head to him but said nothing. 

Android Sixteen was also silent. He observed the dragon, attempting to make sense of it, in silence. He _felt_ the dragon know him back. 

Dende smiled, as he always did when he saw Porunga. The Dragon of Dreams was the most powerful set of dragonballs in existence. It always filled him with wonder, every time he saw it. “All right, Porunga is ready.” He smiled. “Bulma?”

Bulma nodded, squeezing Chi-Chi’s arm before stepping forward. “We would wish back Piccolo, of Earth!”

The dragon nodded and flared with light.

Baba, now floating next to the ground, smiled a little. “He lives.”

Bulma looked at the others. “Okay, so—we can either use the second wish to take us home, or wish back Gohan?”

“Let’s use the third wish to take us home,” Chi-Chi told them. “The second wish—“

“Our dragonballs were changed,” Dende told them helpfully. “After they passed to the Grand Elder, he modified them that they might bring back more than one person at a time.”

Bulma stiffened a little, looking at Chi-Chi. The enormity of mass resurrection was never lost on Bulma. This was something that, as a scientist, she could not reverse. She’d sent her son through time, but she’d never brought someone back to life. She hadn't expected to be able to do it now. “Do we wanna do it? Wish them all back from here?”

“Shit’s about to get crazy, isn’t it?” Lancer said, taking off his cowboy hat and letting the curious Elder put it on.

“We would wish that those who were killed by the Cyborgs and Cell, on Earth—that, if they so desire—they can come back to life.”

The dragon rumbled, flared again. “It is done.”

“And for our last wish, Porunga, Dragon of Dreams: I, Dende, volunteer to take up the mantle of Guardian for Earth. So I wish for you to transport all of us back to Earth's Lookout.”

Porunga inclined his mighty head to Dende. “Your wish is granted.”


	21. The Defender Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tapion's ocarina: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch461Ux75a4&t=64s&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO&index=8  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> “So now we can start searching for the others. Where was Gohan—“
> 
>  
> 
> _Oh. There he is._
> 
>  
> 
> Trunks lost the feeling in his legs. 
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That makes more sense,” said Minotia, much more relaxed now that they were outside and Trunks wasn’t nearby. “I thought you all had seemed pretty relaxed about all this.”

“Oh yeah,” said Jaida, chuckling. “We’ve been fighting cyborgs our whole lives.” She gestured to Mai. “We finally have a way to stop them and then we find you. So upside, we’re prepared to fight actual monsters. I’m ready to fight monsters.”

“I am so sorry,” Minotia told them, and looked it. “Sounds like you all have had a lot to deal with. Hopefully, Hoi is dead. It’s weird that Tapion’s case could be opened but no one saw any signs of a monster.”

“What exactly is this deal with this monster?” Mai asked. “Why would a case stop it from coming out?”

“Right, so—my case logged the date I landed on Typhtan—planet on the other side of the galaxy. When I was woken up, the ship had logged that date as well. So about nine hundred years ago, our planet, Konats, was watched over by a demon statue—it purified hearts, the Hirudegarn. Then some assholes called the Kashvar—“

Jaida snorted unintentionally.

“What? You’ve heard of them?”

“No, no—“ Jaida waved a hand, staring down at the ground as they walked. “I just—Kashvar—made me think of a song I heard one time.”

“Continue, Minotia,” Mai directed, nodding encouraging to him.

“Anyway, these wizards hate everyone who isn’t like them—surprise, surprise. So they brought the demon statue to life—it having had years to absorb the dark halves of people’s souls—and tried to kill all of us. So our mentor, Matcha—he went with us to find the tomb of the last Konats who had originally turned Hirudegarn to stone. We found enchanted flutes.” Minotia pulled out his ocarina. “So Matcha cut the monster in half while Tapion and I froze it in place with the flutes.”

“Oh, I see where this is going,” Mai winced a little. 

“Yeah,” said Minotia. “Monster couldn’t be killed. So I got the lower half, Tapion got the upper half and we were sent to opposite ends of the galaxy. We each kept a flute and an enchanted sword.” He touched the grip of the broadsword. 

“How old were you then?” Jaida asked. 

“I’m fourteen. Tapion was twenty years old. I guess I’m _still_ fourteen. Or maybe I’m fifteen. Fifteen. Let’s go with fifteen.”

Mai chuckled silently. 

Jaida sighed. "You know it's weird having everyone be the ages of the cyborgs. I mean, because their names are numbers. Hopefully, one through sixteen don't show up."

Minotia ventured another question: “So, that guy—Trunks. What’s his….story? Why is he so _different_ from all of you? Can you see his aura?”

“I guess it looks a little different depending on what kind of power you can use?” Jaida said. “Because I see silver. And it has all these intricate patterns. It was a cascade of color before he went back into the Past. But when he came back….it had changed to silver. 

“And I see the gold one—the super saiyan aura. And it’s like flames rather than patterns.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—wait, what do you mean he went back into the Past?”

Jaida straightened and glanced at Mai. “Shit—sorry.”

She shrugged. “It was inevitable. Let’s tell him.”

 

 

“Geez, planets with so much spirit energy always have such bizarre problems. I thought _ours_ were weird. And Saiyans always have such extreme potential. I guess it’s good this planet got the type that somehow didn't want to murder everyone. Incredible bit of luck on that one.”

Jaida was setting up the Nocturlab by the fire and unscrewing a jar of grave dirt. Mai finished setting up both tents and was now preparing some potatoes for them over the fire. Jaida took some blood from each of them and invoked the wheel. The compass jumped, pointing farther north. Veering slightly west. Jaida could suddenly taste the metal of the compass needle. She could feel it, electric, in her teeth. 

And for just a flash, she saw a deep cave. A young man was lying in the dark. His breathing was ragged and wet and shallow. He sounded ill. It—

Jaida opened her eyes. 

Minotia was staring at her. “What do you see, Guardian?”

“Just flashes,” Jaida said, a bit awkwardly. “A man in a cave.”

“It might be Tapion!” The dark expression cleared in a flash. “Was he still alive?!”

“….yes,” Jaida said carefully. “We’ll turn north-by-northwest tomorrow. We should be all right to fly. Can you fly, Minotia?”

“Oh yeah, no problem there.”

Mai went to bed first. Jaida had intended to stay up alone to keep watch but Minotia stayed up too—mostly so he could ask her questions about Mai. ( _”Does she like red hair?”_ And _”Does she like music?”_ and then, _”That guy Trunks—he’s not her boyfriend, is he?”)_

_"No_ , he isn’t,” Jaida huffed, scowling a little.

“What are you, jealous?” 

Jaida bristled and glared at Minotia. “Go to bed.”

“What—why?”

“Go to bed.”

“Ugh! Fine. Keep watch by yourself.”

“Go to bed.”

“Good _night!"_

“Go. To bed.” 

 

 

 

Seventeen sat up sharply. He was still perched on the floor of the cabin. They’d found it after running from West City. They were both still shaken, still trying to digest what had happened and the incredible power that Trunks now displayed. They would now be in hiding forever….

But they’d taunted him with that once, hadn’t they? 

_The better question is: why not? Who’s gonna stop us?_

The kid who’d been saying all along that he would. Holy shit. 

And he’d _spared_ them. That was the wild part. One chance and they felt it from his aura that this would be their _only_ chance. And if they slipped one finger out of line, he would gladly kill both of them in cold blood.

The witch seemed conflicted. Videl looked furious. And then Mai…looking sort of uncertain and—

“You know that stupid girl is the only reason we’re still alive,” Eighteen grumbled. “Lucky you. You spared the humans and now maybe one day you can get laid.”

“Fuck off, Laz.”

“Don’t _even_. I will fucking _kill_ you.”

“Careful—if you do, Lazuli, Trunks might kill you.”

She swore at him. “So now what the fuck do we do?”

“Calm your shit and think. We never had a reason to kill people anyway. We just did it for fun. Now have to actually think about what we wanna do now that the doc is dead. You wanna challenge the kid and see if he’ll spare us as many times as we spared him.”

“We ignored him.”

“And we could have killed him—but for whatever reason, we didn’t. We—“

They both felt it. A strange buzzing against their ears. It made their scalps inch, something electric in it.

“What is that?” Eighteen asked, quieter.

Seventeen tilted his head. “…..is this…what the dragonballs feel like?”

“The dragonballs—how the hell did they revive Piccolo!?”

Seventeen kept peering out the window and then went to the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” 

The cyborg zipped off through the trees, tasting the buzzing energy in his teeth. He hated how it made his mouth feel metallic. The grind of metal and oil—reminded him of too many half-remembered nights on Gero’s work table. All the blood—

Seventeen shook himself and touched down by a rocky area that connected into a range of cliffs. Near the edge, there was the entrance to a cave. Like a great, dark eye—it watched him. At almost the same moment, there was a rustle of movement. 

Mai stepped out of the treeline. Jaida followed, along with an unfamiliar boy. He saw them first, grabbing onto Mai’s sleeve.

She stiffened, freezing in place. 

“Oh, shit,” Jaida muttered.

“What? What’s wrong?” the boy asked, looking back and forth between them.

"These two are the cyborgs," Jaida muttered to him. "Who, until recently, have been our very direct enemies."

“We were just wondering what the buzzing is,” Seventeen called out, showing the palms of his hands. “We thought it might be the dragonballs. But it looks like you guys are already on it.”

Mai and Jaida looked at each other, then back at them.

Mai stepped forward. “Lapis—are you…all right?”

“It’s been, what, a month? We don’t die that fast.” He crossed his arms, stepping forward into the empty space with Mai. “Who’s the kid?”

“A traveler from space.”

“Wow, I guess he came at a good time.”

Mai fought a small smile. 

Seventeen chuckled and shrugged. “Is Trunks going to be flying over us with a vengeance here?”

“No,” Mai told him (making Jaida look at her like she was crazy: _why would you tell them that?)._ “It’s just us. Trying to find this traveler’s brother. He’s in this area—and then the dragon radar went off.”

“Why were you carrying that around?” Eighteen asked them, sharply.

“We heard there might be a way to revive them. The dragonballs, I mean.”

Jaida looked back and forth between Mai and the cyborgs. But she stayed silent.

“Aren’t you afraid I could kill you and take this dragonball for us? Maybe I want to wish Trunks back to being a child so I can kill him properly.” Seventeen asked her.

“You could try, it you wanted,” Mai told him, gently. “But I don’t think you do.”

“You called my bluff. I don’t care.” He shrugged and stepped away from the cave’s entrance.

Minotia huffed and hurried passed them. Jaida and Mai hurried after him.

“Holy shit, Mai—I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jaida told her under her breath as they lit a bubble of light in the dark.

“He’s not that bad,” Mai said quietly. “I mean—he _did_ save us.”

“He saved _us_. He killed a lot of others."

"You're the one who asked Trunks to spare them."

"I know, I know, I just….” Jaida sighed, briskly stepping over a stream that cut through the middle of the cave. “I trust your judgment, Mai.” 

They heard Minotia cry out before they actually saw the reason behind it. It echoed, desperate and frantic, all around them until they broke into a run, dashing through the cavern.

When they entered the chamber, Minotia was kneeling by someone. “Tapion! Tapion! Wake up? Please! Wake up!”

Jaida raced to them, urging Minotia back. Mai popped two capsules of supplies. 

The brother was bigger, more like Trunks. He had a shock of red hair over his scalp, the severely pointed ears and clothing were similar to Minotia. She knelt by him.

“Guardian—is he alive? Can you help him?”

Jaida touched Tapion’s jaw, gently shifting into his mind. She felt its eyes on her. The monster—whatever it was—it watched her in a way that Minotia’s couldn’t. Of course, maybe it was just because he held the top half. Which, presumably, had its eyes. It was stronger than Minotia, definitely. The older brother’s spirit energy was a lot like Trunks. He—

His eyes suddenly opened, Jaida jerked back—but a large palm flashed out—grabbing her by the collar. Tapion had bottle green eyes, they were focused and intense, glaring at her. “Who are you?” He demanded. His voice was low and measured.

“Tapion!”

Jaida watched something ripple over Tapion’s proud face. Something like _loss_ and then those eyes pulled away from her. And he completely dropped his murderous look when he saw him.

“Minotia!” He breathed. “Wh—“ He looked back at Jaida, searching her face. “Are you—a Guardian? A priestess?”

“Um….well, um…I’m a witch?” Jaida mused.

Tapion looked at Minotia, who shrugged and nodded. “Basically, the same thing,” said the boy.

“Guardian, you have my thanks,” Tapion said and he pushed himself up. 

“Oh my shit—“ Jaida gasped. “Oh wow, you—you’re injured. Definitely injured.”

“You’ve brought Minotia. Does that mean that Hirudegarn is dead? Or is Hoi dead? Are you descendant of Matcha?” The young man went on, allowing Minotia to push him back down. 

Mai brought more lanterns and some water. “The monster you speak of—your brother indicated it was still inside of him. Yours is still inside of you, yes?”

“It is.”

“How did he get it open then? Was it Hoi--the Kashvar. I mean—where is he? He opened my case--I assumed he opened yours.” Minotia glanced around the cave, as if he expected to see the little wizard hiding in the shadows.

“I don’t know. I know he woke me—he brought some artifact—and used it to open the case. So top half came out—and maybe it killed him for all I know. I just know that when I got my flute and summoned it back—I…couldn’t reseal the case. Not on my own. I remember nights of snowing but the days began to blur the longer I stayed awake.” Tapion shifted a little as the girl with the burnt-red hair, the Guardian witch or whatever, opened his jacket and examined the bleeding. It was dark as tar and stiff. She placed her hands on him, flat palmed and warm. Tapion watched her close her eye to focus, the other eye was hidden behind a patch. Ah—she was a young witch—just coming into her power. He could feel how she attempted to heal him. It was clumsy, but it was well-intended. He gently touched her shoulder to help steady her aura. The response was immediate. She filled with energy like a dam and the power that flexed through her was steady and strong. He felt her surprise and gratitude, felt her touch at his presence curiously.

“So you can't have been here more than a month or so?" She said, glancing up to him and then looking back at his ribs. His magic was like a trusted book, a steady ladder, a guiding hand. Tapion had clearly been _extensively_ trained. His magic far surpassed Minotia’s and definitely her own. He was solid as a rock. He might be nearly as strong as Trunks in magic. But it was more nuanced. There was more _natural_ magic to him. Something that hummed through his being. He didn't hear crickets at night--he heard an orchestra. When he heard music, he _saw_ the colors it made.

“I don’t know,” Tapion answered, pulling his eyes away from the Guardian to confer silently with Minotia, glancing back at the witch after his brother nodded. “But it can’t have been long. I blacked out after the top half escaped—and when I try to sleep, Hirudegarn fights to get free.” Tapion felt her clumsy touch in his mind. He steadied her and she was _fascinated_ by his magic. He could feel it.

While Jaida talked to the elder brother, Mai realized the dragon radar was still clicking. She kept half an eye on the three but walked the perimeter. The orange glint gazed back at her, a single red star winking inside a skull. She broke the eye sockets with a smash of her thick boot and grabbed it up, brushing off some muck and mud. “Wow,” she said softly. “They really are back.”

“What perfect timing,” a little old man said to her left.

Mai jerked, instinctively pulling her gun up. “Who are you!”

“Which one is that?” the old man asked, stepping towards her. “There are seven of them, yes? I have heard of these artifacts.”

Mai stepped back into the lantern light. “Are you the one that released Tapion?”

Jaida looked back over her shoulder, sharply—seeing Mai at the far edge of the cavern. She jumped up. “Mai!”

"There's someone back here," Mai called back, not taking her eyes off the little man.

"Don't worry, most of us aren't strangers here. Are we, Tapion?" He stepped into the light with Mai. "Why don't we all meet and greet?"

"Shit," Minotia stumbled up.

"Ladies first?" asked the wizard and slammed his will into Mai. "Why don't you tell us how you knew the dragonball would be here?"

Mai fought his grip, trying to raise her shotgun--

"I can do this all day," the wizard told her and _pulsed_. She shrieked. 

"Stay here!" Jaida commanded Minotia. She grabbed Trunks' sword. Spirit energy sword, right? She had spirit energy. She had a good amount of it! She took off at a sprint.

“No, Guardian!” Tapion pushed himself to his feet. She definitely did _not_ have a good amount of it.

“Jaida, don't—!“ Minotia jumped up.

But too late, Jaida felt everything in her lift. Like she was fading inbetween the world. Like attaching herself to one of Videl's gravity spheres. She felt _light_. And her vision tunneled in on Mai. Had to save Mai. Rescue Mai. Nothing else mattered. She gripped the sword as Videl had begun showing her just three weeks ago. A flicker went through the weapon, into her, tasting her spirit. The sword shimmered and she swung at the wizard.

It was like trying to cut through the densest molasses. The sword was half buried in a shield surrounding the wizard. He smiled up at her, watching her struggle to keep the blade in contact. He released Mai, turning his attention to Jaida. His aura flickered with something dark but instead of being thrown back--the sword gave again. It shattered down the rest of the blade. The other edge crackled and fell apart like crushed diamonds. Jaida staggered to a stop, watching helplessly as the sword shattered in her hands.

Mai froze.

"Oh, no," Jaida croaked, horrified. _Trunks' sword. How could I..._ She dropped to her knees. _I didn't mean to._ "Oh. Oh no. No." The hilt and about an inch of raw blade remained of the single piece. The rest of it was lying in the dirt of the cave. 

“Minotia. You made it here, did you?” the old man creaked like a floorboard, walking passed Jaida and Mai as if they weren't there at all. “When I set you free—I thought for sure I would be crushed by the lower half. My legs burst like a rotted whale’s stomach. And you took my ship. Do you know how long it took me to get off of Typhtan? And since you were free—there’s only two places you might go. To Konats or to your brother. And your brother’s coordinates were already in the ship’s computer. And now, I’ll have you both or not at all.” He raised his palms. 

He latched into the brothers, tearing Tapion to his knees. It ripped a cry from him as he fought it

"You--!" Jaida was suddenly up, seething in rage. _I broke Trunks' sword. I broke Trunks' sword on the stupid barrier. Because I was too weak to use it, right? And that's the punishment--Trunks loses his sword and I get to be an asshole. Why can't it ever just be me! Break me--break my stuff! Not his stuff! Goddammit! **Fuck** this guy!_ This asshole wizard broke Trunks' sword. She rooted herself in this realm and slid her fingers into the strings of the next. He was easy to find--his power bristled and rumbled with darkness and hatred. _Gotcha!_ She _reached_ , snatching the strings and following them to him--slamming into the wizard’s mind. Then hitting a brick wall of defenses.

“Oh my, little priestess—do you know how long I’ve been alive? Have you just begun exploring magic? Adorable.” Hoi’s grin was like a slash. He effortlessly grabbed into Jaida’s essence and _blasted_ her back. Her head filled up with ringing screams that came in through her mouth and shredded her stomach to ribbons. 

“No—“ Tapion collapsed.

Mai ran to Jaida, hauling her up and sprinting towards the cave entrance. The witch was barely conscious, blood bubbling up from her mouth and nose. Minotia grabbed his brother and sprinted after them. They burst into sunlight—and then the cave and adjoining mountainside burst apart around them.

“Oh shit,” Mai said softly, watching the rock crack apart and a goliath of a beast screamed into the cold January sun. 

Minotia staggered to his knees, clutching his chest. He dug his fingernails into his fists, fighting for control of his half of Hirudegarn. "Mai! Get out of here!"

The top half threw a chunk of mountain at them.

Mai threw her arms up, pulsing out with what energy she could as she knelt over the witch to shield her—

And then there was a ripple of air and Seventeen appeared in front of her. The rock shattered to pieces. “So, some kind of monster in there?”

“Yes—there’s a wizard—“

The beast blasted them back again. Mai grabbed for her rifle and felt the small bag of sensu beans. Shit, she'd forgotten all about the sensu beans. They’d taken four total—one for each of them, and Tapion, just in case. “Oh, please work,” Mai said, grabbing a bean and crushing it before forcing it into Jaida’s mouth.

The witch choked and then shuddered. “Holy shit,” she muttered. “Did I almost die?”

“Yes, that wizard scrambled your insides or something. I guess these sensu beans are actually a thing.”

“Wow, that felt terrible.”

“What did it taste like?”

“Also terrible: celery.”

“Mai! Jaida! Help!”

They both jumped up, scrambling to Minotia. Tapion was unconscious, but being drug up into the air like a puppet on strings. 

Eighteen continued to watch from the sidelines as the top half of some monster shrieked in rage, turning the forest at the edge of the mountain to a blazing inferno. Seventeen protected them from another giant boulder. Or, well, he protected Mai, mostly. Her brother’s weird thing about Goku’s _other_ former enemy was…confusing and strange and it didn’t make any sense. But her brother wanted to protect the little bitch so….

Eighteen sighed. “He’s so lucky we’re related.” She blasted off into the sky, firing a white-hot beam at the beast. It turned on her immediately. She zipped around it. Where the fuck had this thing been hiding? Its massive claw _smashed_ her into the rocky cliffs. Eighteen grumbled. “What the hell is with these suddenly strong bug things coming out of the fucking woodwork. Like goddamn termites.”

“Cockroaches would be more applicable.”

The cyborg whirled around, seeing a gross, wrinkled old man in a Garlic Junior-esque outfit and that kind of fervent horribleness that came with evangelical religious types and/or mad scientists. 

_"Kill him! Kill him! Kill them all!"_

“Shut up,” Eighteen muttered to herself and blasted the wizard. She flashed forward to latch into him. “Seventeen!” She called out and then threw the old man.

The other twin paused, peering up at Eighteen’s shout and saw the old man. “Who’s that?”

“The one controlling the monster!” Minotia flailed frantically. “He’s a horrible wizard of—“

Seventeen was gone.

Minotia looked up. The dark-haired young man grabbed the old wizard by his arms and body slammed him from a hundred feet in the air. The blonde woman was to his side in a flash. The dust evacuated as she followed up with a punishing knee, slamming right into his spine. Seventeen was up, bearings regained, switching places with her as he grabbed the old man’s arms. He braced his boot into the wizard's spine and pulled back. Eighteen stood before them, palm spread at the wizard’s head. Hoi’s arms tore from their sockets. Eighteen blasted his face until it was a mutilated stump. 

_A flawless execution of teamwork_ , Mai would, for the second time, reflect.

Minotia stared at them in stunned silence. 

Tapion was suddenly alert, lurching up with his ocarina and started to play.

Jaida and Mai both stopped, listening to the flute. It was…sad and lonesome, determination of the final defender. Eighteen and Seventeen both paused, looking at the strange young man. He played an enchanted ocarina. It sounded lost and cold and alone and other things they both tried to ignore and Eighteen was immediately enraged. She started to raise her arm again—

But Seventeen stopped her. “It’s just music, sis. It can’t hurt us.”

She hesitated, looking back as the top half of the monster suddenly siphoned into the older brother. He staggered and Minotia ran to him. 

Not unlike she’d once run to Lapis when they dumped him into their holding cell. His eyes were different, glassy and pale blue. Like a foggy lens had been placed over them—which had—as Lazuli would discover the very next day while Lapis was still unconscious. 

Eighteen lowered her arm. She looked at her brother and suddenly felt off-footed.

“Seventeen….” Mai approached them carefully. “You killed the wizard.”

Minotia stared at him. "You are not our enemies, then?"

There was a long moment of pregnant silence before Seventeen shrugged. "Not today."

“Don't go expecting favors, kid.” Eighteen folded her arms.

“You have my sincere gratitude, both of you.” The boy _bowed_ to them. 

“Uh, oh…” Eighteen shifted, looking abruptly uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s been fun. Tearing arms out of sockets never gets old.” Seventeen took a step away. 

“Wait—Seventeen—I…” Mai reached into her satchel. “Here—I meant to give this to you if I saw you again.”

The cyborg stared at her. In her outstretched hand was a small book. He hesitated.

“Just take it!” Mai commanded and she hurried up to them. She didn’t meet Eighteen’s eyes, avoiding them. She barely looked at Seventeen’s as she pressed the small book into his hand and then turned around and raced back to the brothers.

Seventeen looked at the book. 

_Constellations: A Fieldguide to Galactic Navigation_

"Oh my god, seriously?" Eighteen said.

He glanced at his sister. “What?” 

She put her hands on her hips and suddenly smiled a little. “Our lives have taken some weird turns, bro.”

“Ain’t that the goddamn truth.” He glanced up, watching the four fly away. 

 

 

 

Trunks felt it first.

It was like a punch to the gut—maybe because he was finally getting used to not feeling all his mother’s friends ( _his_ friends) anymore—so when he first felt the Namekian, he tried to shake it off as a flashback. Yet, the feeling persisted. Piccolo. “What the…it can't be....”

He headed outside. 

Videl was standing on the front lawn. She looked bewildered. “What _is_ that? It’s not the cyborgs, I can _feel_ it.”

Trunks lifted into the air. “….I think it's Piccolo. It’s—“

And then the Namekian appeared on the ground, not fifteen feet from Videl. She jerked back, staring at him.

The huge man was green and clearly lethal. Everything about him spoke power and control. 

“Piccolo!” Trunks couldn’t stop himself from hurrying up to him and only remembered that _this_ Piccolo had no idea who he was when the Namekian raised his fists. 

“Who are you?” The green man demanded. 

“I’m….”

Wow, his life was weird.

“I’m Trunks. I’m Bulma’s son.”

“Trunks,” Piccolo said softly. “Then…it’s been….how long has it been?”

“Eighteen years, give or take a few months.”

“Was I wished back first?”

“I guess so. My mom went to New Namek to use their dragonballs to wish you back—they must have found them.”

“So now we can start searching for the others. Where was Gohan—“

_Oh. There he is._

Trunks lost the feeling in his legs. 

His mentor seemed to simply step out of the air. He had _both_ arms. He smiled at Trunks, full of warmth and pride and—

“Gohan!” 

Piccolo watched the purple-haired kid suddenly lose his composure and sprint over to his protégé. He couldn’t seem to help but smile a little. Gohan _did_ have that effect on people.

Right now, the elder half-Saiyan looked calm. Trunks was clearly overwhelmed. Goku’s son clapped him on the back and embraced him like a brother. He met Piccolo’s eyes over Trunks’ shoulder. Gohan broke into a smile. “Piccolo.”

“It’s good to see you, Gohan.”

“Are we back? Holy crap, that took forever!” Krillin said.

Videl jumped, staring down at the stout little dwarf that came from... _somewhere._ She hadn’t even felt him. 

“I didn’t get to go to King Kai’s this time,” Krillin went on, pointing at Gohan. “It was _you_ , wasn’t it? You’re all powerful and Kai couldn’t keep any visitors other than you because you’ll destroy the universe or something.”

Gohan laughed. It was warm and big, just like Trunks remembered. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game, Krillin.” He looked around Capsule corp. “Didn’t I _not_ die here?”

"I was just about to ask where you died," Krillin chuckled.

Something in Trunks’ face went ash-grey. “Gohan….”

The half-Saiyan suddenly remembered—right, Trunks hadn’t grown up with the rest of them. He’d never seen mass resurrection (on this side of a wish) before. He clapped Trunks on the shoulder. “Holy cats, Trunks—you’re huge. How old are you now?”

 _”That’s_ Trunks?!” Krillin started, staring open-mouthed. 

“I’m twen—eighteen.”

“Did Bulma forget when you were born?” Krillin laughed.

“Uh…it’s….it’s a long story,” Trunks managed. 

“We’ll have time,” Tien said, voice still level and soothing and low. “Thanks to you, friend.” The three-eyed man was suddenly standing next to Krillin. 

“Wow….you know, whenever I come back—the world always feels different.”

“That’s because you were dead, Yamcha,” Chaotsu reminded him.

“Well, yeah—but still. It feels…fresh or something. Something almost—“

And then Puar slammed into his face, sobbing.

Roshi came out with the others, exchanging hugs and chatter with Krillin. 

And in the middle of all of them, was Videl. She gazed around at the sudden influx of people—and at _him_. This legend in Trunks’ mind. Gohan. He was tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed, handsome, physically bigger than Trunks. His smile and his eyes were warm and kind. His aura was a kaleidoscope of golds and everything about it was determination, compassion, pride and courage. 

“Oh—yeah—that’s Videl! Come on, you can meet her—Videl! Videl!” Trunks suddenly came hurrying up to her, urging her towards him.

She found herself face-to-face with Trunks’ mentor. The man by which Trunks measured all others. 

He smiled brightly. “You’ve been helping Trunks, eh?”

“I….well. Sort of,” Videl managed, trying to fight the sudden unexpected tightness in her throat. “He helped me, mostly.”

“You started this, Videl. We have you to thank for helping get all these guys in gear. Sounds like you were pretty inspiring.”

The honest sincerity with which he said it far overwhelmed any hesitation she had left about whether or not Gohan could live up to his own standard. She managed a partial-smile, still feeling a bit weird. “Trunks is…he’s…talked about you from the beginning. He was the only one that never gave up—thanks to your influence, Master Gohan.”

The man laughed, eyes crinkling up in happy little lines. “Just Gohan,” he said, waving a hand. “No need to be formal.”

“I’m Videl,” she answered automatically.

Trunks snorted, looking amused. 

Gohan just smiled back and nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s a little overwhelming, huh? Dragonballs bringing people back to life and stuff. Pretty crazy, right?”

Videl nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. It’s….something.” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath, feeling the world come back into focus. “Trunks has told me a lot about you. I don’t know how much you all know—from when you were….uh, gone?”

“Dead—it’s okay to say it.” Krillin waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh. Uh. Okay. Dead. So, how much do you know?” Videl looked pointedly back at Gohan, acknowledging that he was the most important person to Trunks and it was necessary that they update him as soon as possible.

“I was able to see some of it from King Kai’s planet. But he was only able to feel Trunks just recently. In the last few months.”

“Because I went into the Past?” Trunks wanted to know.

“No—he actually felt you when you first started exploring your spirit energy—the bulk of it. You tapped it during a fight with the cyborgs. You might have seen a flash of someone in your mind. Long antennae?” Gohan mimicked invisible antennae from his head.

Trunks’ eyes widened. “The blue-skinned guy?"

“That’s King Kai—more on that later. We should take a minute, Trunks—I imagine there’s a lot I need to know—“

“Where’s Vegeta?” Piccolo suddenly said, quietly.

"I _refuse_ to believe that he's somehow the only one who didn't die," Yamcha grumbled. And then his shoulders sunk. "Please don't tell me that's what happened."

"It's not! I would know, Yamcha," Gohan told him, sounding exasperated.

Trunks looked up, pausing a moment. He honed in on his father’s energy. “He’s going to the Lookout.”

Gohan peered at him. “Do you want to follow?”

Trunks thought of his father in the Past and his father now in the Present and looked down. “No. He’ll come around if he wants to. You can’t force it with him.”

Gohan studied Trunks. “You’ve changed a lot, Trunks.”

“A lot has changed. We should talk about the cyborgs before anything else.”


	22. Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music - Chorus of Trees: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7duw3w7KBVo&index=17&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO  
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Videl, now subjected to the onslaught of sincere Gohan, shifted a little, gaze flickering away awkwardly. “Well, yes. I…figured it out. Your mom helped. She taught me about physics.”
> 
> Gohan laughed, booming and warm. “Of course she did.” He grinned at his mom. “See, all that knowledge _was_ useful.”  
>  \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mister Popo was already standing out on the stone tile when Dende and the others appeared. He bowed to them. 

“Popo, how are you?” Bulma asked him. 

“It has been a very quiet twenty years,” he said, somewhat ambiguously. “Kami has returned. He awaits you inside. Tell me if he is truly all right.”

“Why don’t you just come in with us, Mister P?” Bulma asked him, lifting an eyebrow.

“I cannot,” said Mister Popo, simply. He stared down at the tile. 

The others exchanged some sad looks before heading inside.

“You did not fail him,” Dende said quietly, before following. 

“You have volunteered yourself as Guardian?” Kami said when they entered. He showed no surprise at all—it’s not like it was his first death. 

Dende bowed to him. “I am Dende. You are free to stay or go—but you are released from your burden.”

Kami smiled a little, something strange crossing his old face. “I hope you have chosen wisely.” 

 

 

So the others watched Kami and Mister Popo and Dende perform a short ritual, trading the Guardian Staff from old hand to young. Dende’s aura flourished and brightened to a sheer silver. 

And then Dende accepted Shenron’s dragonballs. “The other Me sounds like he had a good idea about tweaking this set. Would you like two wishes?”

The others agreed, of course, and Dende did whatever it was that Namekians from the Dragon Clan did that edited the living force that the dragonballs embodied.

Android Sixteen suddenly looked behind him, staring out to the Lookout’s edge. It was so quiet. The air was humming. He saw the Saiyan prince standing by a pillar, just out of sight. The man lingered there, seeming to be simply observing the group. 

Chi-Chi felt him as well and turned around. She reached out blindly, touching Bulma’s arm. 

“What?”

Chi-Chi looked back at her. “I can feel Vegeta. He’s here.”

Bulma tensed, swallowing hard. She took a deep breath and stepped away from Chi-Chi, walking outside of Kami’s living quarters. Bulma saw the edge of his boot—lingering just out of sight, of course. That was so him. She fought down a small smile as she slowly approached—knowing he likely already sensed her and hadn’t taken off—so that was encouraging. He looked just as she remembered, tough as nails, solid as a rock—just no gaping chest wound and his armor was clean and unmarred. But something in his expression was different. He looked at her when she appeared at the pillar opposite of him. She leaned in its shadow. 

“I came to see if it was really true,” he said quietly. He folded his arms.

“We went to new Namek, got the dragonballs back. Thanks to Trunks.”

Vegeta looked down at the tile. “How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

“A super saiyan?”

“Yes.” Bulma chuckled a little. “He’s got his black belt in it and everything. I’m very proud.”

Vegeta snorted and looked away, fighting a small smile. 

“You didn’t reappear _here_ , did you?”

“No. At your compound. With the others.”

“So did you _see_ him?”

“Yes….I did.” The Saiyan prince trailed off, looking out at the sky. “He looks like you.”

“Pretty fortunate, eh?”

He smirked at her. 

They were both quiet for a moment before Vegeta spoke again, “I saw a great deal in Death. But not much from this realm until the boy returned, suddenly incredibly powerful. He could now kill the cyborgs. Why hasn’t he?”

“He decided to go midsies and give them one chance at mercy.”

Vegeta grunted. “Like the runt and his father—when will you people learn to stop letting your enemies run. You’ll have far fewer problems.”

“Goku let _you_ run,” Bulma reminded him, crossing her arms. 

“Exactly,” Vegeta huffed. 

“And because of that, our world was saved by _our_ son.”

Vegeta jolted and looked at her. He sighed sourly and looked away. 

Bulma finally took a step forward, reaching out with one hand to carefully touch his arm. “Vegeta…”

The prince met her eyes for just a moment, something difficult passing through his dark gaze. He allowed her touch for a few seconds and then pulled away. “I’ll be around,” he said and then blasted off into the sky.

Bulma felt her heart stutter a little and then, with a deep breath, she walked back inside to Chi-Chi. “Well, wanna go see Gohan?”

Chi-Chi also took a deep, bracing breath and nodded. “Yes….let’s go see them.”

 

 

 

“I’d like to speak to you about the cyborgs privately, first,” Trunks said, looking under the fringe of his hair at Gohan.

He nodded. “You’re definitely strong enough to beat them, Trunks.”

“…I know. But I let them go.”

Krillin and Piccolo both jerked. “What!” Krillin said sharply. “Are you serious?”

Trunks kept his eyes on Gohan. “That’s why I would like to talk with you about it first.”

“We should _all_ be included,” Piccolo said, a slight edge tinting his voice dark.

Trunks finally looked away from Gohan, glancing over Gohan’s friends, his mother’s friends. Their group. Not his group. He took a deep breath. “I understand that, Piccolo—“

“Do you?”

“I _do_.” Trunks bristled a little. “And because I _do_ , I am going to speak with Gohan privately _first_.” And he lifted his eyebrows, clearly with intent to challenge.

Videl looked back and forth between the huge green Namekian and Trunks. The man was studying Trunks, looking critical and untrusting. She shifted slightly, casting a shadow on the floor so she could pull from it if she had to help—

Gohan stepped between the two of them. “Okay, it’s not a big deal, Piccolo. Trunks has been alone for a long time, guys. He doesn’t really even know any of you. But he knows me.” He met Piccolo’s eyes.

Watching Gohan communicate with the Namekian silently was…intriguing. And the huge lethal green man settled down. And just like that, Gohan smiled again and rolled his big shoulders. He glanced back at Videl herself, and then stepped into the hallway with Trunks. 

“So, like, you’re older than Trunks, right?” Yamcha suddenly asked, looking at her.

Videl stiffened a little. “Uh….yeah? I am.”

“So you two aren’t a thing?”

“Ah-- _what?!_ He’s ten years younger than me!”

“Like _that_ matters,” Roshi said.

“So how old _are_ you?” Yamcha asked, suddenly looking a little more interested.

“Oh my God, Yamcha. Don’t.” Tien rolled all three of his eyes.

 

 

 

Trunks and Gohan walked silently down the hallway. It was weird because the last time he’d done this—Gohan had been, like, two feet taller than him. Gohan was still taller and broader—but they were now within two inches of sharing headspace. 

They walked into the library and Trunks shut the door. “I’m sorry to speak to you away from them. I knew they wouldn’t like it but they haven’t been here for twenty years. I have.”

“It’s okay. They’ll live,” Gohan said gently. He smiled a little. “So that lady—Videl? She looked ready to throw down with you.”

“She’s a great friend. And she created some powerful techniques that use gravity. It lets her match the super saiyan form for power.”

“Wow! Really? Damn, the guys will wanna learn that.”

They sat down at a small reading table. 

And finally, Trunks was able to look up and see Gohan there again. The child and the man. He struggled for words for a moment, looking down at the table and swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Trunks,” Gohan said quietly and waited for the boy to look up at him. “It’s all right. Whatever it is. I’m ready to listen, Trunks.”

The younger half-saiyan nodded to himself and then began:

He told Gohan about becoming a super saiyan, about getting the shit kicked out of him all the time, about his mother and the time machine and going back into the Past. The power he found there and the differences between their cyborgs and the Past cyborgs. He told them about feeling Videl’s energy just before she arrived and her asking him to teach her. He told Gohan about Mai and a little about meeting Jaida and his uncertainty about the cyborgs because of what had happened in the Past. It was like lancing a wound, to finally tell someone everything. To finally tell Gohan everything. To have Gohan back after all the death and pain.

Like the Gohan he remembered and the Gohan in the Past, the elder followed Trunks’ words with his eyes. He studied and ruminated on them, reflected and absorbed and asked questions, every inch the scholar. And when he finished, Gohan sat back and said, “…..wow, things have been really hard for you.”

Trunks felt something in him crack apart, like Gohan had seen right passed the mask, saw right through him. 

Gohan must have seen his expression change because he put a hand in Trunks’ hair and mussed it. “I’ve missed you, bro.”

“I’m not _that_ much younger than you now.”

Gohan chuckled. “Looks like you’ve actually built an interesting group here. Kind of like my dad did. His whole group was a mix of friends and enemies. You gave the cyborgs one chance. I can deal with that. My dad might have done the same—well, he _did_ do the same. For Vegeta and Piccolo and Tien and Yamcha. I will trust you on this one. But—like you said—one finger out of line. One more person is hurt because of them—and they die.”

“Yes, they die. One hundred percent,” Trunks agreed, taking a deep breath. 

“So how did Videl take that? Letting them live?”

“Well, she….didn’t like it. But she respected it—I mean, didn’t argue or fight me about it, anyway. Probably because she knows I didn’t like it either but I saw the logic behind it. I explained why to them all after Jaida came to me with the request.”

“It’s—“ Gohan looked up.

Trunks followed his gaze to the window. “Oh—I can feel…” He looked back at Gohan. _Your mom…_

Gohan took a deep breath and stood up. 

Chi-Chi and Bulma met them in the common room, where the others were still gathered. 

Chi-Chi looked at her fully alive, two-armed son and took a deep breath. “Gohan,” she said quietly, eyes loving, always--but tired.

“Mom,” Gohan managed, looking under the fringe of his hair at her.

Chi-Chi wiped her eyes and smiled a little, softly, sadly. “It’s good to see you,” she said gently.

Gohan blinked, staring at her. He glanced at Trunks, asking a silent: _Is she okay?_ And then back at his mother. “I’m glad you made it through all this.”

“Hug and get it _over_ with,” Baba commanded, perched on Android Sixteen’s shoulder. The huge man didn’t seem to mind her being there, like an extremely grouchy and foul-mouthed parrot.

That made Chi-Chi chuckle and give him a smile. She walked up to her son and gently embraced him. Gohan looked down at her—studying her tired features and her settled, resigned eyes. _She came to terms with my death. Like she did Dad’s._ He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her.

Trunks glanced around at the others, who were politely watching with small smiles (except Piccolo, of course). And except Videl. She just kept watching Gohan, something conflicted and strange on her face that that half-human wasn't sure how to interpret. 

Chi-Chi pulled back first. “You’ll like the new friends we have, I think. Videl, in particular, really helped us get into gear.” She gestured out to the young woman. “She’s pretty close to your age, Gohan—so I imagine it will be nice having someone around to talk about things with. And you both mentored Trunks, so you already have that in common.”

Videl winced a little. “I didn’t…I mean…I _couldn’t_ help him much. It drove me crazy.”

“Drove you to create a new technique. Trunks was telling me about it. You use harnessed gravity?”

Videl, now subjected to the onslaught of sincere Gohan, shifted a little, gaze flickering away awkwardly. “Well, yes. I…figured it out. Your mom helped. She taught me about physics.”

Gohan laughed, booming and warm. “Of course she did.” He grinned at his mom. “See, all that knowledge _was_ useful.”

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Gohan,” Bulma exclaimed, laughing as she finally broke the spell over the room and hugged Gohan. 

Videl couldn’t seem to help but smile too, watching the big man. Her heart was racing. It must just be all the crazy things that had happened…but when Gohan laughed like that—it made her want to laugh too. Weird. She glanced at Trunks and found him watching her, looking curiously back at her.

Baba looked up from her perch on Sixteen’s shoulder. “What is that? I feel four power levels approaching.”

“Oh, it must be Mai, Jaida and Minotia,” Videl surmised, quickly explaining their little side trip to the others. She headed outside.

“One of them feels faint,” Trunks said, swiftly following..

“Let’s go, Sixteen.” Baba said, tapping his shoulder with her stick.

“Confirmed,” Sixteen said and started to follow, Gohan and Piccolo trailing behind them. 

Trunks watched the sky. Gohan saw them first. “There?” he asked, pointing at three small figures coming from the northwest. They were holding a fourth among them. 

Trunks shot up into the sky. “Mai? Jaida! What happened?”

“Trunks! We found Minotia’s brother,” Jaida called out as she and Mai carried Tapion between them, with Minotia carrying their gear.

Trunks moved in to take him. “Let’s get him to the sick bay.”

When they landed on the ground, Trunks suddenly remembered everyone else. “Oh, uh—Gohan—this is Mai and Jaida and Minotia.”

“Uh—what?” Mai started.

“Wait—you wished everyone back already?” Jaida suddenly noticed the group of strangers and took an instinctive step back.

“Mom did, on Namek.”

Gohan nodded to Trunks’ two friends. “I’m Gohan. Trunks has been telling me about you guys.” He stuck out his hand.

Mai hesitated and then gave him a bracing smile. She shook his hand. “You’re Goku’s son, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Mai wet her lips. “Do you….know who I am?”

“I do—it’s okay. Don’t worry. No grudges here,” Gohan told her, putting his hands up.

She looked relieved.

Jaida looked at Trunks first and then nodded. “Sir,” she said quietly, shaking his hand when he offered it. 

Baba fluttered around Tapion. “Well, well—so this is the big brother, eh? He packs quite a punch. Jaida—did you do a read on him?”

“Yes—um, I did—“ Jaida cut herself off, nodding quickly to Gohan before hurrying to her mentor. “He’s been extensively trained. He might be as strong as Trunks—just in magic.”

“That’s pure spirit energy you’re seeing, girl. He’s strong all right. He’d have to be—for the monster he’s holding inside of him.”

Gohan started a little. “Wait, what?”

“Wait, what?” Trunks said, at the same time.

“Wait—did you guys get into a fight?” Videl demanded, seeing their ragged, bloodstained clothes.

“Oh yeah, funny story,” Mai said, shrugging. “Cyborgs showed up because the cave Tapion was hiding in had a dragonball in it.” She pulled it out.

“They _fought_ you,” Trunks said, eyes turning hard immediately. “Where—“

“No, no, Trunks. They….they actually helped us,” Mai said, glancing down. “They helped us kill the wizard who broke the seal on Tapion’s case.”

Trunks glanced at the older brother, who seemed to be rousing a little on the grass. 

“Tapion,” Jaida said, kneeling next to him. “Tapion? Are you awake?”

Baba floated down from Sixteen’s shoulder, still peering at the young man. “Tapion, eh. Let’s get him inside.”

Trunks helped the young man walk into the compound. He was still quiet but his eyes were alive and alert, taking in everything and glancing at Trunks a few times before he asked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Trunks. I’m friends with Mai and Jaida.”

“Your aura is quite a blend of power and energy. You’re the one that’s half-Saiyan, aren’t you? You must use multiple methods of drawing power.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Trunks shrugged a little. The young man was about his own height, and likely around the same age, from the look of him. Trunks recognized his tired, resigned eyes and the haunted, hunted look to him all too well. “C’mon, in here—you can rest—“

“I can’t. No matter what.” Tapion’s voice strengthened and he looked at Jaida as she came around with bedding for the sick bay cots. “I cannot fall asleep. I must stay awake or the monster could get free again.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Tapion—“

“No, if it comes out—it will destroy this city. I shouldn’t stay.”

“You shouldn’t,” Baba agreed. “But you will.”

Tapion blinked at the little old woman as Trunks helped him sit on the cot. “Who are you? Are you a sorceress?”

“I’m a witch. Her mentor—which you already guessed, didn’t you?” Baba peered at him.

“So you are the actual Guardian,” Tapion surmised. “I was impressed with Jaida—she’s just recently come into her power. You’ve clearly been teaching her well.”

Baba smirked. “Oh, I like you, boy. You had a mentor too, I bet.”

“Yes, Matcha. We were from Konats. He was a powerful wizard.”

“You might be glad to find something familiar then,” Baba told him. “I will place a barrier around this room. Don’t worry too much if it gets free—the cavalry is here.” She gestured out to the group at large.

Minotia tilted his head. “So there _are_ more people here now than when we left three days ago?”

“Yes,” Videl confirmed, matter-of-factly and then she looked at Mai and Jaida, “….where’s Trunks’ sword?”

Jaida tensed and looked down. She nodded a little to herself, like she was preparing herself for his reaction, and pulled her pack off. “I, uh….I tried to….” She opened up the pack and pulled out a long, wrapped bundle. “I tried to use it to fight the wizard who freed the monster.” She unwrapped the bundle on the next cot, showing them all the shattered pieces of the blade and the hilt. She saw Trunks’ eyes widen. “I’m _so_ sorry,” she said quickly. “I…I thought maybe I could use it—but it’s a spirit sword and I didn’t…have enough to control it and it just….” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Trunks.”

“Jade….it’s…” Trunks reached down, touching the cold hilt. “It’s just a sword.”

“I know but….it was _important_ to you…”

“Well, if it’s between you guys or the sword, then I’ll take you guys.”

“I could try to reforge it,” Mai mused, “but it wouldn’t be the same sword.”

Tapion was trying to get up again. “It can’t be reforged with common metals like steel. It requires a spirit forge.”

Baba looked intrigued. “So…the sword isn’t even _made_ of metal, is it? It’s harnessed spirit energy?”

Tapion peered at Baba. “Yes….it is. Do you know about such forges?”

Baba reached out her hand and a glowing shortsword zapped into the air. She snatched it, making it physical. “Spirit weapons aren’t hard to create—but they’re only as strong as the spirit that summons it. And they don’t stay in the physical world on their own. It disappears without a will around to maintain it. But your sword could clearly do so, as does Minotia’s. Did your master forge these swords?”

“No, it was forged…years and years ago. By those who originally bound Hirudegarn.”

“Why don’t we ask the dragon to give us a spirit forge?” Krillin suggested.

“Oh yeah! Of course! All right!” Bulma beamed. “It’ll be just like old times!”

Gohan sighed. “Hopefully not _too_ much like old times.”

“Right?” Krillin laughed. 

“We actually _should_ get on that,” Mai said. “The cyborgs can sense the dragonballs. Might be best to get the rest ASAP—just in case.”

 

 

 

So Bulma, Krillin, Mai, Minotia, Yamcha and Puar all headed out with the dragon radar. 

Chi-Chi went to the kitchen. She wasn’t stressed, exactly—maybe just wound up. Cooking and baking helped take her mind off things. She started putting a big meal together, trying to figure out how she felt about having Gohan back. She was thrilled, of course, and yet...

Jaida stayed with Tapion, in case he fell asleep. Baba suggested he meditate instead of restlessly fidgeting on his cot and told Jaida to join him. “There’s a great deal you could learn from him,” the old woman said, still riding on Sixteen’s shoulder.

The huge android was silent and still as a statue until he saw the ocarina. “What is that?” 

“Flute of some kind,” Baba said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Do you like music, Sixteen?” Jaida ventured.

The android looked uncertain at the question. "I do not know."

“Why is your name a number?” Tapion asked, studying the huge man.

“It’s, uh….long story,” Jaida said. “Um—“

And then Baba floated down and grabbed into Tapion’s jawline. The young man went completely still, watching the old woman—and then his eyes unfocused as Baba shared her knowledge with him. The red-head looked a little startled and then took a deep breath. “Oh,” said the spellsword. “I….thank you. It’s been awhile since I’ve met anyone who could do that.”

“I imagine it’s been awhile since you’ve met _anyone_ at all,” Baba told him sardonically.

Jaida jerked a little. “Baba!”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Tapion agreed. He looked at his rough hands. “Would you like to see how an ocarina is played, Sixteen?”

“I would,” the android intoned.

Tapion absently stroked the shell with his thumb before lifting it to his mouth to play.

 

 

 

“That is _awesome_ ,” Gohan said brightly.

Videl shifted a little, seeming uncertain, maybe a bit shy. “Oh—well—I—thank you, Gohan.” She pulled the knot tighter and the sphere of gravity got bigger.

“Show him how you attach it to weapons!” Trunks said eagerly.

Videl pulled one of the practice swords from the rack. She split the orb in half with it and willed it over the blade.

“You’ve had some training,” Gohan said, watching her closely. “For awhile—way before now, right?”

“Since I was little,” Videl said, shifting her grip on the sword.

“All right, well, Trunks said you could hit hard enough that even a super saiyan would have to watch out. So—hit me!” He flashed with golden light.

Videl glanced at Trunks, who was grinning eagerly. “Do it. It’s okay,” Trunks told her.

Videl nodded and shifted her stance. _Okay. Let’s see how good this guy really is._ It was familiar territory and she relaxed as she braced her feet. 

Gohan just smiled. Was he mocking her? Did he think she couldn’t do anything? She hoped he didn’t think that. But just in case, she better prove the point. So she didn’t hold back much when she dashed at him, zipping around in the air and the _slammed_ the sword into him.

“Whoa!” Gohan flared with power to keep the sword from penetrating but his skin still split against the raw practice blade. 

Videl flipped up, slamming her boot into the side of his head. He blocked with his other hand and spun down like a break dancer. Videl flipped herself over his head and drew from the air again, lining her free fist with gravity. She launched it. Gohan dodged. He was _fast,_ zipping over the grounds of Capsule corp. Videl followed (leaving Trunks behind) and then launched another orb at him—not to strike but to simply attach itself to him. And suddenly, it just made sense to create another with the opposite magnetic field and let it go to the other. Quick as light, Videl holding onto the second orb, it found its sibling and Videl swung down. Her sword hit Gohan’s aura, the gravity orb she’d attached to him shot up and thumped him in the head.

“Ow!” Gohan managed, laughing and not able to get his arm up in time when she hit him with the second. It bowled into his gut, flipping him off his feet. 

It dropped Videl to the grass—but he instantly was turning, sweeping her off balance. The sword went flying and Videl swiftly gloved her fists in gravity to go on the attack. She could see why Trunks admired him so much—Gohan really _was_ powerful. He hadn’t gone on the attack yet, just defending. There was a surety to his movements that was missing from Trunks’ (at least, before Trunks had gone into the Past). And then she ducked around him, slammed her fist into his back—he blocked—and she maintained eye contact while she attached gravity to her heel and bashed it into his knee.

He sagged but when she flipped up to kick again—this time, he grabbed her around the waist and hit the ground. They scrambled to get up first. She tripped him up with gravity and he tried to toss her—so mostly, he ended up half-staggering with her shirt in his grip and then falling over on her. 

She flipped them immediately, hand on Gohan’s chest, straddling his waist.

He smiled up at her.

That took her by surprise, the warmth and friendliness in it. Felt a twinge of something in her belly that made her look away. She got up swiftly and offered her hand to him.

He was grinning when he got up. “You’re pretty good. You’re used to fighting regular humans, right? Always more crafty than cyborgs.”

Videl chuckled. “Like I always tell Trunks, cyborgs fight boring. Make it not-boring.”

“Good advice,” Gohan said, studying Videl.

“You were holding back. A lot,” she replied, crossing her arms.

“Well, I gotta get used to having a body again,” Gohan told her. “We can go again some time, if you want.”

Videl smiled a little, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed for some reason. She covered it up by lifting her nose and putting her hands on her hips. “Sure, of course. I have to prove that brute power isn’t _everything_ one needs to be a good fighter.”

Gohan nodded, thoughtfully. “Yeah—Piccolo would have said the same. Knowledge, improvisation, speed—all very important. Looks like you’ve got those on lock.”

“And it seems like you’re doing pretty well. I mean, Trunks did tell me you were the best he ever knew.”

Gohan snorted. “He may be biased. After all, he only knew me.”

“It sounds like that’s what he needed.”

Gohan blinked, eyes sharpening on her. She felt him gently touch her aura, examining her. 

“I mean,” Videl glanced down, “you were the only one who had any faith in him at all.”

Gohan looked down too. “Sounds like you did too.”

“It’s been a long time, Gohan, but he still needs you,” Videl said softly. “Maybe you don’t want to fight anymore—and that’s okay, too. I wouldn’t blame you. But…he still needs your guidance.”

And then the boy himself landed next to them. “What do you think, Gohan?” He was beaming.

The two of them snapped out of the moment and Gohan's face lit up with a smile. “I can see where you’ve picked up some of that speed from. She’s _quick_. And that gravity is really something. That one piece that attached to me—I thought maybe it was going to implode—but instead, you used the second one to move fast as light to get to me. That’s pretty inventive.”

“Oh,” Videl mused. “Make it implode. Like…rip the air inside out. Like a vacuum bomb. That would be pretty cool.”

“Do I get credit for coming up with it?”

“I’ll name it after you.”

And then Vegeta landed next to them.


	23. Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music : Tubthumping by Chumbawumba: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRfoqa-seQ8&index=19&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO
> 
>  
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> Vegeta looked unimpressed, crossing his arms. “Do you want a free shot, boy—?”
> 
> Trunks flashed in front of him. “Before or after?” And then slammed his fist into his father’s face.
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaida peered at him. “So you…see and feel colors in _everything?_ ”

“Yes, apprentice,” Tapion affirmed, looking bemused at her intense curiosity. It radiated from her aura like a beacon. She called out to the world and it all looked back at her. But she couldn’t see it. She was like a blind ghost. The spirit world knew she was there and she knew they were there—but she had no eyes to see them. He saw the moment Baba opened her inner eyes and dismissed the girl, who went inside and saw the Saiyan. Ah, yes, that made sense--

 _And then Trunks was so careful. Always tightly wound up, on guard, watching his back. Always listening for an explosion or a burst of air or Eighteen’s voice cutting through his thoughts and making him break out in a cold sweat—she just wanted to help him!_

Baba flashed through Jaida's mind. An echo of the old woman's thoughts. It was easy to read Jaida's aura at the beginning. So, initially Baba had not wanted to choose her. But, Videl refused. Fortunate, in retrospect. It was far easier attaching Jaida to Trunks than attaching Videl would have been. _So here we are,_ the old woman would ruminate. _Open the spirit gates._

And then like a whisper: _Intense hatred and fear cannot exist alone. Try all things. Small things. Strange things. Dangerous things. You cannot shut yourself in a dark anymore. Take your muzzle off and breath._

And for some reason, Jaida did. She couldn't help it, in the end.

And everything had perfect light—both the sun and the moon, silver and gold, and then sank into their colors, into the fabric of the world around them. It made her eyes hurt—not fully having mastered seeing what her eyes seemed to sense were there. Like trying to focus on heat waves. It made her dizzy. Like sand falling around a stone in reverse. Waterfalls stopping mid-flow, to choke, drown, and breath all at once. Eyes sharpening in on tunneling vision to the white, cool light of a mind and reaching towards it--

Jaida shuddered, pulling herself back. “Holy _shit_ , what was that!”

Tapion chuckled. “Mostly memories, feelings, impressions—it’s how… _scrying_ can be done when one can’t leave their body.”

Tapion’s aura fluctuated, turning similar to her own, like a sound wave. Trunks and Minotia were like a blend of colors because they were _also_ tuned to the universe, but less. Whereas Tapion glowed from the inside out like a warm lantern: inviting, solid, kind, haunted. Baba was like diamond, cold and tough and weathered. She was cynical and reflective and cared more about the truth than anyone's bullshit. Trunks was flaring and warm, the cold edge of a blade but also a kind hand in the dark—

“Apprentice?” Tapion’s voice rattled her thoughts around. 

She looked away from him, shoulders curling up in shame, self-disgust and relentless pain and alone-days, always alone-days with the old buckets, sticky with blood and residue and vomit from the fight the day before—

Jaida clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Apprentice!” Tapion barked.

She physically arrested herself and swallowed hard. She touched her arms, as if to absently check that they were still there. “What _was_ that?”

“I don’t know, apprent—“

“Would you stop calling me _apprentice,_ please? I’m not an apprentice.”

Tapion lifted an eyebrow. “Are you not Lady Baba’s disciple?”

“I am, I guess, but—not really? I don’t know. I’m suddenly not sure and that makes me, um…uncertain. I should go. I should really go.”

“You suspect she influenced you? Attach was a curious choice of word.”

“I don’t know! I—“

“Would it matter if you did?” 

“YES!” She cried out and then really _thought_ about it. “I mean—what—I….”

“Would you leave them all? Because of fear?” He felt her suddenly become more aware of his presence as he stepped closer. “There is no shame in fear,” Tapion said gently, raising a calming hand. “We need fear or most of us wouldn’t make it to our teens.”

An unexpected laugh snorted out of Jaida. 

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It means that even if you’re afraid, you act anyway.” He felt her aura flex through caution to awe to uncertainty. She had been alone for a long time. He could feel her struggling with that, just like Videl and Trunks were. He simply gave her time to shift to something more fragile, shy, and then the warmth of another mage knowing his presence, faint as hers was—it was welcome. The legends about Earthling adaptability appeared to be true. Baba, Videl, Bulma, these cyborgs, Trunks—especially Trunks. Great things could come from him. Even terrible, maybe, but great. 

But over every mind he observed here, _all_ save Baba lived in the shadows of these cyborgs. They had a similar feel in their minds as Hirudegarn felt in Minotia’s. Trunks seemed sure that he could kill them if they violated their mercy agreement. And, for some reason, felt sure that they wouldn’t break their word. Maybe he wasn’t strong enough and was still trying to buy time? It made him think of Hirudegarn again, touching his ocarina automatically. Maybe he could take care of them while he was here. The young lord, or whoever he was, Gohan seemed to be some sort of adviser to Trunks. The boy was young, hardly even his own age but there was something off about him. Something in his manner that Tapion found odd and yet, strangely familiar. Almost like a man who had gone to sleep in one place and woken up in a different place some years later.

Tapion sighed softly to himself. 

But Trunks was also attempting to establish some kind of order—he seemed awkward with most of the people living in this foreign city. Almost like he felt like he were intruding in his own house. But it was _his house,_ _his world,_ _his failures,_ and his success. And he refused to allow the Namekian (ah, a Namekian, interesting) to take command of himself or _his_ friends. Or Minotia or Tapion. He also refused to allow the others leave to go hunt down the cyborgs. This caused some muttering and general resentment but no one seemed keen on challenging him about it. Piccolo or Vegeta seemed the most likely to do so….yet neither did. 

So for the moment, he had them on brute strength alone. He would now need to earn their respect. A daunting task for the multitude of extremely intense personalities around this place.

But almost all of them were drawn to the bright spot that was Gohan. Though it had less to do with any physical power and more to do with just who he was as a person. So long as he didn’t go crazy or start hungering to lead a group that could blow up planets to go and blow up planets (that unfortunate madness side effect of the Saiyan gene)—he would be a solid, dependable adviser. And more, everyone _else_ trusted Gohan like they didn’t trust Trunks at all.

Tapion rubbed his chin. Quite a group he'd stumbled upon. “Jaida, can you fill me in on the people here. Trunks, particularly.”

He managed not to smile at the sweep of affection and warmth she associated with the name. It couldn’t be more obvious in her aura--though nothing changed in her somber expression. It shifted from its sheer shimmer, barely visible to something warmer, more gold. Baba definitely must have known from the beginning. Her aura was normally so quiet, carefully controlled. She was like a cat, not wanting to make sound if it wasn’t necessary. And she did walk that way, he noted. Quick but thorough steps, very cautious about people before meeting Trunks in person. She’d lived alone for awhile by then. But anything was better than the goddamn _Mort Benign_ pit outside of East City. She’d slit every fucking one of their throats like she had the night she broke out—

_Mort Benign pit? What is a pit?_

Images flashed by, creaking chains and chanting and a fighting area and pens for captured people, fighters. Flimsy tents, sparse candles, bruises on many arms from manacles. Infection from bleeding rope burn and the close contact with blood, shit and tears from the other--

Something inside of her went armor hard, blasting back at him with as much _intent_ as she could. 

Tapion pulled back, awkwardly. “I’m sorry. Sometimes when I hear the stories, they…run away with me a little.”

Jaida shook her head. “I…um. I should. I should go. Thank you, Tapion. Um. I’ll tell you what I can, um, later.” Her shoulders curled in. “I’m sure Master Gohan would be a much better choice.”

 

 

Jaida hugged her arms to herself, bristling with tension but uncertain where to direct it. She felt hunted, hurrying away from the sick bay—tossing some excuse to Baba and throwing up what walls she could to try and shield her mind. She was almost certain Baba was looking in on her thoughts. 

How much did she know? How long had she known it? Were all her thoughts her own? _Oh god, I’m going crazy. Just like Baba said I would._

She stopped in the middle of the greenhouse. _What do I do?_

Her magic was building up energy like static, fueled by the sudden fear, breaking out in a cold sweat and everything smelling electric. Almost floating—had to be grounded—like lightening. Jaida shuddered and _reached_ , gently touching _his_ mind. A shy, small hand in the back of the painting.

He was with Gohan. And Videl. He was so… _happy_.

Jaida pulled back, slipping away, couldn’t do it. Not right now. Gohan was more important. Trunks looked up to him. And he seemed kind and sincere. Trunks deserved to spend time with him.

What had her mother said, the day she died: _And goddammit. Woman up, you little bitch!_

Jaida pulled away from the spirit side, hurrying towards the back fence and then cursing herself. How did she forget that she could _fly?_ Fuck. She lifted up, zipping away to go to the seaside. 

She landed on the slippery rocks a little awkwardly. A heavy sleet had turned it into a veritable deathtrap of icy marble. She paced the rock, ducking into a small cave, moving restlessly, endlessly. And the longer she paced, the more her rage built. Slow, but powerful, turning like a storm that colored colder and colder the farther in it went. 

“Goddammit, goddammit,” she muttered. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. I can’t even…I…” she drug her hands through her hair. “Fucking. Shit. I don’t understand. I don’t know where I am. Need an anchor. Fucking—why do I need a fucking anchor? I fucking don’t—I’m not going to go crazy. Lose touch with—fuck that—it’s this, right? God _dammit.”_ Jaida lit up inside and out and she _reached_ , two fingers pointing into the rock—locking into that frustration, the rage at her helplessness. Cursing her own stupidity and arrogance, thinking she could wield a goddamn spirit sword. A _wounded_ one at that! Thinking she could be around people and not have everything fucking go to shit _again_ \--

The blast was pale green, creating the shell and then firing, continuous and spirit-hot. The rock shattered apart.

_If I ever see any of you again, I will personally ensure that you will live quite a while before you die. But unfortunately for you, you’ll be with me for the duration of it. I can go one at a time. I’ve got the stamina._

Then the running for the corn field. Running from Schoolcraft. 

She sunk down into the rubble of the cliffside. The sleet soaked her in an instant, freezing to her cheeks and her hair. She tore her jacket off, the cold sweat stopped in an instant and her body shook—unable to warm herself inside or out. She fought for control, shuddering hard and gasping on a sob. She took a few deep breaths. “Now, Jades. You’re gonna woman the fuck up. Right the _fuck_ now.”

She nodded a little to herself, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. “Right…right…it’s okay. Just relax. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

_”The woman told me you were a super saiyan. Let’s see it, boy.”_

_Trunks glanced around them. “We shouldn’t do it here, Father—“_

_”Vegeta,” Gohan grumbled, sounding exasperated, “you can’t start a brawl right here—“_

_”Shut up, Runt. You’ll get your turn.” And Vegeta transformed_

Jaida shot up, almost banging her head on an overhang. “Fucking—shit!” She stumbled up and took off into the air. Why was she still so goddamn _slow?!_ Vegeta’s killer instinct was vast. It called and reflected, roared and thundered in the most incredible aurora of whites and blues, like swans rising from a lake. But there was _zero_ thrill in combat—not like it was in Trunks. Just efficiency, the killing blow, and the dark humor. Almost impressive but such a bastard that you can’t really like him. But you don’t _dislike_ him.

And he made no mistake about his intent. He would attack to kill. That was all Jaida needed to know anyway. 

 

 

 

Trunks entire frame of reference for Vegeta’s actual ability in combat was based completely around his training with his father in the Past. He had to remember now—Vegeta here wasn’t as strong as Vegeta there. And even Vegeta-there hadn’t been as strong as him. He raised his fist. “It’s all right, Gohan. I can handle him.”

His mentor did a slight double-take.

Trunks _pulsed_ — 

 

 

 

Vegeta had been gone for five Chamber-Days. Trunks had been looking for him since day two (and would have since day one, but he wasn’t entirely sure it was all really happening), he’d fly thousands of miles, forever and ever, over the endless white expanse, searching for Vegeta’s energy. (In the Future-future, he would reflect that he should have done this as a super saiyan to build up stamina.) He would fly until exhaustion or until he burst in frustration and rage at both the chamber and his arrogant, hateful father. 

_Why am I even looking for him?_

The thought echoed _loud_ around him, like a physical force knocking him to his knees.

“I mean, really, Trunks—why even bother?” his mother said, arms crossed like her younger self but her hair in a ponytail like her future self. “He’s going to get you killed.”

He looked at her, bypassing how the fuck she’d even gotten here, and tried to imagine what could have brought her to his father. An ice cold shard went through him. “Mom—did he force you to—?”

“No! Holy shit, Trunks--you are so traumatized right now, what the hell?”

“You don’t really think you’re the last Saiyan, do you?” Freeza mused. “Your dragonballs wished back those killed by ‘Freeza and his men’. I killed a whole planet of Saiyans. Of course, most of them simply reappeared where their planet had been. So they died in space. Again. But—a good number made it. Did you tell them about Broly yet?”

“Wh—who?” Trunks staggered up, away from Freeza. “Who is—“

“Oh right. Timelines are confusing, aren’t they,” Eighteen whispered in his ear. 

Freeza was gone. Trunks jerked forward, whirling around.

“Oh, poor little boy. Are you lost?” Eighteen smiled. The world darkened around those cold blue eyes. “You look so tired. Are you searching for something, young man?” She placed her palm on his chest, grabbing into his shirt. He was taller than she was now. But it still felt like he had to look _up_ at her. He seethed. 

“Get away!” He threw his palm out to blast her—

And then Seventeen clapped him on the back, forcing Trunks to his knees. “Hey, little bro, how’s it going?”

“I have to find my father! Leave me alone!”

Eighteen burst out laughing. She skipped up to Trunks and knelt in front of him. On her knees, she touched his chest again—look for all the world like a dainty, flirtatious young woman, rather than a murderous cyborg. “Oh Trunks, I can help you find your father. See?”

She showed him. Vegeta appeared next to them, chest blown open like a smashed door. Eyes filled with pain, then blood. Then his mother staggering over to Vegeta, gently touching his face. “Vegeta?” Bulma said softly. She looked down at his ruined Saiyan armor. “I’m so sorry.”

Trunks jerked back.

_I’m so sorry_

“Gohan!” His younger self ran by, already sobbing as the world darkened to pain. As he knelt by him and grabbed him up, hugging him like that might bring him back. “Gohan! I’m so sorry—“

Trunks went ice cold inside. That had never happened before. Every time the cyborgs taunted him with Gohan, every time he’d seen the cyborgs in the stupid Time Chamber _(right, because remember, the Chamber fucks with us, holy shit)_ and made him feel like he was cracking apart inside and he would become aware later feeling like he’d been hit by a car (for a person who…didn’t get buildings and shit thrown at them, that is). But this time was different. He jerked back from the visions, regrounding himself in the floor of the chamber, rooting to his immediate present. The lines of power did not exist in the Time Chamber—or, at least, Trunks couldn’t see them. So he made them instead. Made himself attach to the power of the Room itself. Time.

And if that didn’t make him feel like he’d just lifted out of his body and experienced, for just a moment, what being able to hear what the whole world felt like in sync, from across realms and universes. All these echoes of everything happening all at once. _This must be what Baba hears._

Trunks sat down on his knees and grabbed up the cylinder capsule, still hanging around his neck. He unscrewed the top. He hadn’t looked at the bead in a while. And even more-awhile since entering the Time Chamber (but only for him and the bead, itself, he supposed). He tipped it into his palm.

It had compressed inward during the trip through time, definitely more oval than when he’d left his present. So he still expected the bead to be there. He heard it rattling around sometimes. So when he dumped it into his palm, he was nearly caught off guard by how heavy it was. The metal appeared to be gone. The bead was still a bead—but it was definitely made of that heavy, cold energy that Videl had been studying. The metal case was nowhere in the cylinder. The bead of gravity tingled on his fingers—and he felt Jaida’s aura suddenly, how she’d willed memories and thoughts and feelings about _him_ , from all the others. What made him real to _them_.

It flared silvery-white. Trunks clenched it in his fist and dropped the bead back inside the cylinder. It felt heavier around his neck. It helped ground him. 

The cyborgs were gone. He was alone in the white expanse. Trunks stood up again. “He had a lot to prove, my ass, Gohan. He had a fucking lot to prove but it had nothing to do with his prowess as a fighter.”

“So what’s the difference between you?” Gohan said, appearing in front of him with his arms crossed, looking curious and thoughtful. He looked like his Gohan, yet different, wearing slacks and a button-up and a vest. His eyes bright and interested behind a pair of spectacles, rather than dark and haunted.

Trunks looked down. “He doesn’t like to fight.”

“And you do,” Gohan finished, adjusting his glasses.

Trunks felt the reflexive wince of shame.

“Trunks, you’re in a magical time chamber where you can fight as much as you want. In fact, that’s what they _want_ you to do. And it’s what you want too. This place is like a dream, Trunks. You are subjected to it—but you can learn to _control_ it. Don’t base your experience here around Vegeta. He hates this but he knows it’s necessary. Yeah, you’ll have to train alone—but again, this is a dream, Trunks. You can influence what the Room creates. It’s drawn to intense emotions and experiences because this room is purely spirit energy.”

“How do you know all this?”

Gohan smiled. “Well, Trunks, I’ve already been there.”

Trunks stared at him. “Wha—no, in my time we never knew—“

“Ah, I suppose then it’s in your, relatively, immediate future, yeah? Gohan and Goku are going in after you and Vegeta, right?”

Trunks stared at him. “Holy shit.”

“I think you just broke Space-Time, Trunks,” Gohan said, as if he’d spelled an easy word wrong on his homework. “You traveled time twice so far, and only six months apart, so that’s a negative zero, and then you come into the Time Chamber to spend a year in one day. Which, hey, everyone can have a few fractures in their timelines—its expected—but every day that you’re in here, then out there and then traveling _forward_ \--“

“So if we were in my time instead of the Past…..you would be….”

“The Gohan you remember, yes,” Gohan said, gesturing next to him.

His Gohan appeared, eyes hard and dark, minus one arm—but that crooked half-smile on his face. “C’mon Trunks, let’s go train. You wanna help me beat the cyborgs, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, automatically.

“Then find Vegeta.” His Gohan nodded forward. 

 

 

 

Trunks’ power shook the earth. 

Vegeta looked unimpressed, crossing his arms. “Do you want a free shot, boy—?”

Trunks flashed in front of him. “Before or after?” And then _slammed_ his fist into his father’s face. 

Gohan jumped, looking startled.

Videl burst out laughing. 

Vegeta shot across the compound, nose streaming blood and jerked to a stop. Trunks appeared behind him, sending him barreling through the air with a punishing kick. As soon as they were over the trees near the shore, he swooped down, easily catching up with Vegeta and slamming both fists into his back. 

But before he could crash into the earth, Trunks redirected the leylines around the trees, creating a path with them (which he’d thought of after Videl spoke about it). They caught all of Vegeta’s incoming force, stopping him gently just above the ground. 

Finally, far away from the others, Trunks landed next to the prince. He did not boast or gloat. He just stood quietly, at ready.

Vegeta got up, dropping the super saiyan glow entirely. “That’s a new form, isn’t it?” The anger Trunks expected wasn't there. Vegeta looked at him with an almost _academic_ gaze. He walked up to Trunks, studying the more severe spike of the hair, the roar of power in his son _(what the shit)_.

“I discovered it while I was in the Past.” Trunks kept himself ready, not trusting that his father wouldn't try to trick him. He did not follow Vegeta with his eyes when the man circled him.

“Did I show it to you, in the Past?” The Prince demanded, sounding bored and condescending. 

“No,” Trunks said, tone turning cold. “You didn’t. You wouldn’t train with me--" Trunks cut himself off and took a breath. "I mean, _he_ wouldn’t train with me. We both could have done it if we had trained together. But he refused. And then nearly died.”

To his credit, Vegeta had to nod. “Well, I suppose I’m not _that_ surprised.”

“Nobody was,” Trunks agreed and then chuckled a little.

Vegeta snorted and crossed his arms. “How strong did Kakorot get in the Past?”

“He died,” Trunks answered. 

“Ha!”

“Dad, I mean—he died but it was him trying to save everyone.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Of course it was.” 

Trunks couldn’t help but smile a little.

“But you were strongest after him, right?” The Prince growled.

Trunks thought about it for a moment too long because Vegeta answered with, “It was Gohan, wasn’t it?”

“Well. Yeah. I mean, for a bit though, I was in second.” 

“And at least half of me was in another timeline. I imagine you were about even with the brat before he got that last minute power boost. I assume when Kakorot died?”

“Actually…it was Android Sixteen.”

Vegeta started a little. “….that big lumbering monstrosity?”

“He was…different, in the Past,” Trunks said. “It’s a long series of stories.”

“Then you will tell me them when you show me this ascended form you discovered.”

Trunks nodded quickly. He recognized this, suddenly. It was…weird. Their second time in the Chamber together had been….different. 

“And who’s the girl?”

“What girl?” Trunks asked, looking around.

“She’s lingering, just watching us. Up in the trees. You didn’t sense her before she just flew off? You should try paying attention.”

“She’s my—she’s Baba’s…apprentice, I guess.”

Vegeta studied him hard, glaring, for almost a full ten seconds. “I see. The servant out being the witch’s eyes and ears, I suppose.”

Trunks bristled a little. “Are you saying that to try and get a rise out of me or just making an observation, _Father?”_ Pointedly polite on the word.

“And why would that get a rise out of you? Are you friends with the servants? I suppose you are your mother’s son.”

Trunks clenched his fist. “Son of a bitch, it’s thanks to _her_ that you’re even standing here.”

“That’s your grandmother you’re talking about.”

Trunks scowled. _Goddammit, other-Dad._ He shook his head and sighed. “Nevermind. See you later, Dad.” He took off into the sky.

Vegeta watched him go and absently wiped blood off his face. He examined it.

Vegeta…smiled a little. _Interesting._

 

 

 

Videl burst out laughing when she saw Trunks again. She waved to him. “You _slapped_ his _shit,_ Trunks. I wish you could have seen Gohan during that _entire_ exchange. Nailed it, Trunks. Nailed it.” She high-fived him.

Trunks looked a little sheepish.

“Damn, you really have gotten strong,” Gohan said, unable to fight the half smile as Videl became animated and lively. She talked to Trunks with such enthusiasm. Like he was her little brother or something.

Gohan took a moment to actually examine the young woman. She was painted in scars but she was limber and strong. She wasn’t very tall but her aura vibrated with that odd gravity power she used. She’d _developed_ it. Shit. That was actually pretty cool. It took a lot of will to force the mind to associate a certain type of energy to a word or phase. Almost like a codeword, muscle memory. It took a lot more to make your own. Which was why they all borrowed techniques from each other. Things like Solar Flare—which everyone could use to about the same degree. Status effects, leveling the playing field for a few seconds. 

Status effects were a real bitch.

And she could tether the cyborgs to the ground like one ties a mad dog to a tree. Makes it a lot easier to control the confrontation. But she also had a sort of quiet darkness in her aura—like so many of them did. She wasn’t exactly hiding anything—but there were things she hadn’t told them. Told Trunks. Things that she might be ashamed of, if he knew. 

_You shouldn’t peer into people’s minds when they’re distracted, Gohan._

The half-saiyan jerked, going still as stone. She did not turn away from Trunks and pulled out her phone to show him a little piece of video she’d snatched. While he watched, appearing rather amazed, Videl looked over to meet Gohan’s eyes.

_You wanna talk to me? You have questions? Then let’s talk. But don’t go reading my feelings and then disappear like I wouldn’t notice._

Gohan glanced aside. _I wanted to see who you were to Trunks._

Her touch came back, less hard. _You don’t need to worry. I can’t replace you._

Gohan shook himself internally. _That’s not it—no. I meant, I just wanted to know what kind of person you were._

_Then why not just ask._

Gohan snorted a little. _Because Trunks has noticed that you’re staring at me._

He felt Videl mentally flail around and jerk away from his mind. 

Trunks looked between the two of them. “….are you okay, Videl?”

“Yeah—it’s—I’m fine. Gohan was just being a nerd and examining my aura and I felt it.”

Trunks froze in place. Something comically distraught crossed his face. “Uh….oh.”

“Not like _that_ ,” Gohan grunted. He watched Trunks turn beet-red. Well, at least _some_ things hadn’t changed about Trunks.

“Wh—huh?” Videl asked as she smothered a surge of laughter with her hand. “Oh my god, Trunks.”

“Master Roshi has been here, what, four months, Trunks? You’ve already picked up some habits?”

“No!” Trunks denied immediately. “I mean.” Wait, _had_ he picked anything up from the others in the Past (or his present)? “I don’t know but I—I, but I’m not a—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—“

“Trunks,” Gohan said, gently, raising a hand to calm him. “It’s all right. I was just teasing you. I’m sorry.”

It was painful, watching the relief wash over Trunks’ face. He took a few breaths, nodding silently. Right. Still deeply traumatized by everything that had happened. He’d had no time to really recover. And not used to being around more people yet. He was trying to figure out how to interact with Gohan now. And then with Videl being there—and maybe Gohan was a little bit distracted by her but not really in a bad way—and just mopping the forest floor with Vegeta and showing his intent to not give up control to Gohan (or to Piccolo). He still looked uncertain but at least he didn’t think Gohan was angry with him. Poor kid. 

Gohan clapped him on the back. “C’mon, Trunks—let’s get something to eat. Videl? You wanna come?”

She beamed and nodded. She had…a really pretty smile. The way it made her eyes light up. Her aura was powerful and electric, willful and determined. She was smart, cautious and respectful—but clearly didn’t mind poking fun and teasing either.

Gohan rubbed a hand in Trunks’ pin straight hair and half-smiled at him. 

 

 

 

Chi-Chi finally opened her letter from Goku.

Her fingers traced the edges of smooth, machine-cut paper. The faint blue dye that made the lines still reminded her of schoolwork. Goku always wrote on this kind of paper. It helped him keep his words even. There was something so chaotic about how he saw energy and it effected everything he did. 

Sometimes, it was extremely frustrating.

But she’d loved him. And he had loved her, in his own way. It wasn’t obvious most of the time but when he would come back from a fight, still smelling like blood and wander to her. Touch her spine to remind himself that she was real, she was still there. _She was still there._ He put his eyes down in her hair and breathed in the scent of her lemon-scented shampoo. He was half-wild from all the time spent alone. The savage animal instincts he learned hadn’t helped him make friends. But the people he _did_ take in to his pack were loyal to the death. And sometimes, death had called for them. The most difficult was letting Vegeta go. His and Nappa’s arrival had led to many deaths. But like the animals he’d lived around in the woods, he showed restraint. Maybe he was afraid that, if he didn’t, and he explored too deeply into the Saiyan blood—that he would find out things about himself that he didn’t want to know. Maybe that, if Vegeta and Goku’s places had been switched, Goku would have been an enthusiastic murderer, with a love for death that Vegeta did not share. And maybe Vegeta would have had some peace instead, growing up a quiet, somber fighter like Trunks.

_Like Trunks._

Chi-Chi shook herself and unfolded the note. 

 

_Chi-Chi:_

_Trunks has told me all about you. You sound the same—just sadder. I’m sorry for that. I wish I could have been there to protect you. To protect Gohan. To protect…everyone. It seems like that’s the way it goes. Everyone pays for my enemies, my mistakes and my death. I hope now things might turn out differently—Trunks is a brave young man—but he told us how you’ve helped and encouraged him._

_I know I was never good at keeping things together. Maybe it’s from growing up like a wolfboy in the woods—it’s lucky that I was taken in by Grandpa Gohan. The only thing I was really good at was fighting. Back then, I didn’t know how to describe what I saw. I didn’t understand that everyone was different from me. And that when Master Roshi saw me—he saw all different patterns and colors in my aura. But seeing all that strength in Trunks, realizing what he and Gohan could become, I was proud of him. Proud of them. Vegeta was too, by the end of it—but you know how difficult he can be sometimes. Take it easy on him if he gets brought back—he never got to meet you or Grandpa when he was a kid. All he had was Nappa and Freeza. Anyone would turn cold and hard around monsters like them._

_Did Trunks tell you that he killed Metalhead Freeza? It was kind of fun being the only two saiyans in existence to kill Freeza. I told him my fight with Freeza was pretty fun. And he agreed! I wish I could train with him—I don’t know how much potential he has compared to Gohan—but he likes training. But he was worried about hurting Vegeta’s feelings and Piccolo didn’t want to create another potential problem. Isn’t that weird? Haha, but I suppose Vegeta isn’t used to anyone caring about his feelings just for his feelings’ sake. And he must have them. Somewhere. Deep down. I guess Trunks was the only one who saw them. I’m almost a little jealous. But, that’s Vegeta all over._

_Anyway, I imagine Trunks will tell you all about the Cell Games. It’s two days until then. I’ve been with my Chi-Chi all week, trying to figure out how I would write this. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Honestly, I’m not sure I can beat Cell. But Gohan can. He has it, buried deep down—Trunks probably does too but that time is lost—so I’m probably going to die. So I wanted to finish this before the fight, just in case._

_That’s something I used to try to never think about it. But now, when I am writing this and reflecting on how I treated you, how my mistakes have cost so many lives, how our son knows nothing but death….maybe it’s for the best if I stay dead this time. Less chaotic for you, anyway. I’m sorry, Chi-Chi. If by some chance, Cell dies easy and I live: I’ll train Trunks myself and make sure to send him back so strong that you’ll never have to worry about the world being threatened again._

_But I suppose that’s…what we always say, isn’t it?_

_If I could do it all over again, I’d change some things. I got so focused on fighting that I lost sight of things that were important. We’d go on more nimbus rides, I think._

_I know it’s very unlikely that I’ll be able to come back to life in your time—because, from the sounds of it, my death was natural—which was surprising, even to me. I assumed I would die in combat. Weird. Still a chance, right! But if I do—maybe let him read this. It’s taken me so long to learn these things, he could use all the help he can get._

Chi-Chi laughed a little, covering her mouth with her palm. Her eyes were wet. 

_I know I wasn’t very good at being what you deserved. Thank you for putting up with me anyway. It was the spirit I saw in you at the tournament and I could never disrespect you by just allowing you to win. Your aura was so sparkly. It still is in this time…though its fainter now. Trunks told me that you’re like a waking forge. He’s so poetic. I wish I could talk like that._

_Anyway, I have to go check on Gohan. He’s with Trunks—they got attached to each other pretty quickly. They must be really close in the Future. (He always says ‘future’ like it has a capital F.)_

_I love you, Chi-Chi. And I’m sorry for everything else._

_Stay safe,_

_Goku_

 

Chi-Chi laughed a little again, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, Goku.”


	24. Let Me Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chunk than usual, cause we got some:  
> Vegeta/Bulma  
> Bit of niceness for Trunks and Jaida but nothing else  
> Trunks and his appreciation for magical swords  
> Music: Religion by Lana Del Rey: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VZCrZcpr0M&index=9&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO
> 
> Fight: Hirudegarn vs The World  
> Music, some Loreena McKennit because sound got serious power: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qG0cDEqpG_E&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO&index=20
> 
> \------------------------
> 
> And then choked when Eighteen appeared in her line of vision. 
> 
> “Don’t panic, moron. I’m not here to kill you today. Maybe tomorrow. What’s your schedule look like?” The cyborg hefted Videl to her feet, putting an arm around the human’s waist and lifting into the air.
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The timer was going off.

No, not the timer. The radar. The dragon radar. 

She was dozing against the headrest in the front seat while Bulma drove. No, wait, not Bulma. Why would Bulma be here? She’d be in West City, no doubt—

_“--bring you breaking news. A lethal attack has just occurred outside of South City. Those within the area should evacuate immediately. The city has been placed under a State of Emergency and all air traffic has been halted. Two terrorists have been identified—“_

Shu turned the radio off. “Which religion do you think they are?”

Mai stirred a little, opening an eye. “What?”

“You’re right, their religion doesn’t matter. Assholes are just assholes, right?”

Mai chuckled softly. “Basically.” She absently touched her shotgun, reassuring herself that it was still tucked in close to her knee. Her eyes closed again. “Could be Vegeta?”

“Yeah, right. You think he’s got nothing better to do than blow up a couple Earth cities?”

Mai sat up, raising her eyebrows at Shu.

“Fair point,” the dog answered. “And would you check the radar—I can hear that beeping a lot louder than you.”

“Do they make dog-type ear plugs?” Mai asked.

 _”Yes_ ,” Shu informed her pointedly. “I suppose Piccolo and his friends will go take care of terrorists or whatever. We can evaluate later—“

“It’ll keep them distracted while we search for the last dragonball. How far are we from South City?”

“Almost five hundred miles. So, it shouldn’t be an issue, so long as we can summon the dragon without Piccolo feeling it.”

Mai sighed. “We should really wish for flight sometime.”

Shu chuckled over the steering column. “You wanna talk with him about it?” He pointed over his shoulder with his paw, gesturing back to Pilaf, who was fast asleep in the backseat.

“Not really,” Mai said flatly, rolling her eyes. She pulled the radar out of her satchel and examined it. “Looks like it’s more northerly?”

Shu sniffed the air, tasting it from window. “Towards that mountain?”

“That’s a plateau, but yes.”

Shu rolled his eyes at her, shifted gears and veered the jeep off the road. 

“You’re gonna wake him up, Shu,” Mai warned, grabbing into the Jeep’s roll bar. The canvas was stretched tight over it.

“No, I’m not,” Shu dismissed, throwing up dust as he barreled towards the plateau.

Mai grabbed onto the bar with both hands. “Shu—I swear to God if you crash, I’m going to cut off your ear flaps.”

“You’d have to catch me first,” the ninja told her, winking.

“Shu, watch it—!”

The dog veered sharply around a boulder, laughing at Mai’s anger. “What are you so—“

“Pay the hell attention, dog-breath!”

“Make me, prey-type—“

“Dammit, Shu—!”

Shu expertly turned the wheel, sending them sliding a stop next to the plateau’s foot. 

Pilaf surfaced over the back seat, looking annoyed and harassed. He clapped Shu upside the head. “Next time you wanna risk the car, do it on your _own_ rental.”

“Actually, I rented it, sir,” Mai sighed.

Pilaf glared at her and kicked the door open. 

Mai watched him waddle ahead of her. _I hate him._ Mai blinked a little. Well. _That_ had never surfaced up front before. Shu walked up with her to trail after Pilaf. The little gross green raisin didn’t let them continue with him, of course. He snatched the radar from her and commanded them to stay behind.

Mai just sighed. “How the hell did we get here, Shu?”

Shu glanced up at her and pointed behind them. “Car?”

“No, I mean. He wants to wish for youth, right? Do you think we’ll get it too?”

“Could be. Would it matter?”

Mai looked down at her feet. “Could be. I mean…maybe I’d do some things differently this time. Instead of getting suckered into working for that little shit…maybe something else.”

“Well, we’re not going back in time, Mai,” Shu said, softer, maybe a little kinder.

“I know but…if I could get far enough away from his magic….” Mai glanced down at the dog. “You could come, if you wanted?”

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Pilaf came sprinting back around the plateau. “It was up in a bird’s nest! Finally! Now, quick, while they’re still distracted!”

“Didn’t know you cared, Mai.” Shu winked.

“I like it when you lay on my feet.”

Shu burst out laughing.

“I know! Isn’t it great!” Pilaf exclaimed. He dumped out the seven golden dragon balls. “Rise, Shenron! Hear my wish!”

Mai jumped back with Shu, staring up at the mighty dragon. He never _wasn’t_ impressive. But as Pilaf proclaimed his wish (“Return us to our youth, Shenron!”), she peered up at the dragon. _Let it be different this time, please_. Some said the dragons could read intent behind wishes. Maybe Shenron could help them in some way. It was—

The world warped.

“What the—“ Shu cried out. “No, Mai—!”

Everything was getting bigger. Or she was shrinking. She was engulfed by her own clothes. Mai thrashed, fighting it, panicked. “Shu!” She managed, hearing his words turn into garbled whimpers. _Oh god, what’s happening?!_

She fought her oversized jacket aside so she could see. Pilaf lay on the ground, a screeching lima bean in a cowl. Shu woofed, shocked into his animal-mind. He sniffed around, approaching her uncertainly. Mai looked down at her tiny hands. 

They were starting to blur. _What. Why. What—I’m…toddler?_

There was a blinding flash above them as the dragon disappeared. _What happened?_

_What do I do—? Oh, hi puppy. Do we have to take the screaming one? Let’s drag him to a village and drop him off._

“Shu. I’m Shu.” He barked.

“You’re Shu. Right. Shu. Shu.”

“Mai, stay with me. Hey, I need you aware. You have opposable thumbs! Mai? Mai!”

 

 

 

Mai stared down at the six-star dragonball. _What happened to Shu?_

“Mai?” Minotia asked her softly. “You okay?”

Mai blinked a little. “Y-yeah. Let’s go.”

“So, uh,” Minotia asked as they walked. “You’re sixteen or so, right? Not that much older than me.”

Mai suddenly felt a weird flicker go through her, a strange piece of awareness. “I suppose. I mean—I guess I’m actually seventeen now. Or, no, eighteen?” She rubbed her jaw. “It’s hard to know how old I was.”

“What do you mean? I thought you were born when those cyborgs showed up?”

“Um, well. That’s what I _picked_ for my birthday. I can’t actually remember when it is. I’m not sure I ever knew. But on May twelfth, me and a friend and our….boss, for lack of better word, summoned Earth’s dragon—Shenron—and wished for youth. We were turned into infants. But…then my memory blurs—because I was a baby. Just like we can’t normally remember things from that long ago anyway.”

“Oh my god!” Yamcha suddenly cried out, stopping in place. “You’re _that_ Mai!”

Tien chuckled at his distraught expression.

“Wait, that means you’re actually, like, seventy, doesn’t it? So why are you helping us? It’s not like Trunks really knows you like we do.” 

Mai lifted her eyebrows. “Yes, Yamcha. My long-term memories are starting to come back. I remember how ineffective you were. Glad to see some things haven’t changed.”

“Cold-blooded,” Yamcha allowed. “But that doesn’t answer the question.”

“All right, but first, I have a question: What have you contributed in the last seventeen years?”

“I’ve been _dead!”_

“You know what I did?” Mai asked, suddenly bristling, suddenly getting terse. “I started an _underground resistance_ after, I’m pretty sure, dropping off Pilaf in the woods somewhere to get eaten by wolves. That’s a two-for-one, right? Then I joined Trunks, not knowing who he was—just that he was a fucking legend in the underground. Lots of people had taken video with phones or cameras that were left over in the cities. I’ve been working with Bulma. Are they not enough to vouch for me? All right, so again, let’s recap. You’ve been dead for seventeen years. Because you were weak. Like I was. But instead of hanging back, you threw your life away and left the only ones who could save us, all alone. You could have helped ensure Trunks and Bulma and Gohan were protected. But you didn’t. You let pride come before other people’s lives! Because you could never accept that you weren’t strong enough.”

Mai took several deep breathes, heart racing, palms cold and clammy. “So instead of asking why _I’m_ helping Trunks, maybe you should ask yourselves why _you_ couldn’t help Trunks.”

“What were we supposed to do?” Yamcha snapped. “Watch everyone else die?”

“Unfortunately, _yes_ , and make sure your backup plan is safe. You, at least, had experience that Gohan and Trunks lacked. You could have guided them—helped them become super saiyans faster. Maybe if you’d thought about something other than your pride, you might not have been dead for two decades and _still_ not be able to help anyone.”

The plane became very quiet.

Mai dumped the dragonball in Minotia’s hand. “I should go.” Before anyone could move, Mai wrenched open the emergency door and jumped out. 

“Good to be back, assholes,” Yamcha said, sighing softly. “Same damaged minds, different faces.”

Roshi passed him a bottle of plum wine. “Drink up, boy.”

 

 

 

Vegeta zipped along the coast. He didn’t like hanging around Capsule Corp but he figured he ought to stay nearby. Besides, watching the boy try to figure out how to create a pecking order was hilarious. Vegeta presumed that control of their little group would return to Piccolo (because Vegeta didn’t care to have it, of course) but he’d heard about his little staring contest with the Namekian. Tien and Yamcha and Krillin murmured about Trunks’ aura. How intense it was, how hair-trigger thin and needle sharp. It was the feel of someone who keeps in control by always being ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Never being able to relax, always on guard. It was like every night each of them had spent trapped somewhere getting the shit kicked out of them until they could find each other. Or every fucking day that Vegeta had spent under Freeza. A week of that feels like a year. A year feels like a lifetime. That’s survival mode. Trunks’ aura was carefully controlled, for the most part, but it flared like a bolt of lightning when he felt threatened. Which was all the time. 

It was difficult to pin what was going through the boy’s mind. His expressions were always so hard to read—his eyes were hard and dark but which set of memories was he looking through? Their past or the Other Past? His frame of reference for them or for the Past Them? 

He’d watched him interact with Gohan in a way that reminded him a lot of Piccolo and the runt when he was a child. But not as many neutral slaps. But there was no doubt in Vegeta at all that, while Gohan was weak and feral, Trunks had a killer instinct that would make any Saiyan proud. Even though he was obviously a half-breed. The human genetics getting involved were totally unpredictable. That’s what humans were, at their core, unpredictable (at best), fucking _unmanageable_ (at worst). At least his woman was a leader among all of them. He snorted a bit to himself. _My woman. Right._

The boy was also ridiculously powerful. He would be an idiot to let _that_ pass him by. Getting on the boy’s good side (one seemed to get there by simply not murdering him) could be useful later. And he seemed to want to get to know him for some reason. _He already got to know a different me. What else does he need to know?_

He’d known enough, after all, not to hold back for Vegeta. If his other self was worth a fucking shit (obligatory fuck-that-guy), he at least taught Trunks not to be a timid little shit like Gohan. 

It was a little bit strange, really. To hear the stories of everything his son had done. His son. A saiyan Prince that was powerful enough to rule a dozen empires. But his son didn’t want that. He wanted to get to know Vegeta. It made no goddamn sense. At all. 

That dice roll that the human gene threw in never seemed to make any sense. 

But, Trunks had bloodied his nose and mouth. He had shown him that respect without brutalizing him like Freeza would have (like Freeza _had_ on more than one occasion) and did not call the others to mock or jeer. Lone Wolf Syndrome.

Vegeta sneered at thought of it. 

And maybe felt a little bit of interested pride. For the sake of the Saiyan royal family, of course. Trunks might be a proper prince one day, with some training. Vegeta got to feel like the wise elder sage for a moment and then dismissed it. 

Mostly because he could feel his tail again. Not his tail-tail, the person who’d been following him. It wasn’t Trunks—the boy couldn’t cap his power that low. But it wasn’t the girl, Videl, either. Her energy was raw and cold and strange. There was something about it that made him vaguely uneasy. It was just...unknowable. It felt odd in his head. A Saiyan absorbed energy through flesh, that was what made them particularly ideal for attacks like the Spirit Bomb. Saiyans drew from things around them. 

But Videl…it felt like she was drawing energy from things that _weren’t_ there. A curious technique—and surprisingly powerful. 

Vegeta disappeared into the trees and stopped in a clearing. “Show yourself, witch! If you’re following to deliver a message from your master, then deliver and be gone.” 

The little red-head appeared, watching him like a cautious dog as she stepped into the clearing. “Sir,” she said. Her voice was even and quiet, firm and as neutral as the slant her mouth made. 

Vegeta crossed his arms. This one felt altogether different too. Her aura was less vibrant, quieter—like a burning candle. A little light in the dark. But there was strength in the core—that’s what Baba must have been looking for. Bulma had a very similar feel—but brighter—and her focus and energy helped her invent incredible tools instead of learning spells. Power always found a way. But this one was a beginner. She felt like a ghost. He sneered a little at her. “What do you want, _servant?”_

He watched her square her shoulders, leveling her gaze at him and stepping forward. “You are Trunks' father, right?”

He watched her examine his expression. He didn’t answer, which didn’t seem to surprise her. She nodded to herself, looking down to steel herself to look up into his face again. “Trunks has…talked a lot about you—“

“You’re not here to tell me about the boy. He can do that himself.”

She huffed and crossed her arms, suddenly dropping the careful tone. “He’s been waiting for this and I just wanted to see what the big deal is.”

Vegeta lifted an eyebrow. “Careful, girl.” He threw his palm up in her face. “And don’t try reading my mind either. I’ll gut you here and now. The boy can come scrape you off the grass for all I care.”

“Does that mean you’d tell him in person?”

Vegeta scowled, _(“In addition to the aforementioned cyborgs, if you hurt any of my friends, I will kill you.” He’d said it so calmly too. Not a flicker of a lie in his aura.)_ —he backhanded her around the face. Or would have—except that she had her arm raised like she had a shield. His fist was caught in its grip and yet, she made no move to attack. She just stared back at him, silently. He glanced at her and broke his fist free with a thought. His gaze became academic again, studying her like he had Videl and Trunks. “What do you want? Just to test your arm?”

“I wanted to—“

“Oh, that's right. I don’t care. Because I want a quiet flight along the coast but apparently that’s not happening today.” He shook his head. “Go beg lessons off the boy.”

“You mean Trunks, your son? Or Gohan, Goku’s son? Or Tapion and Minotia? Who do you recommend of those boys here that are stronger than you?”

Vegeta bristled. “How long do you think it would take the boy to get here? Fast enough to stop me from snapping your neck?” And he phased, crossing to her in a flash. Exhaling his aura around them, trapping her in place, grabbing into that stupid human jaw. “I can’t tell if I should be surprised or not that you didn’t foresee this, little witch. But between crazy Baba and the boy's mother and your missing eye—maybe it evens out?”

It was…strange, what next occurred. Even for Vegeta, watching his energy suddenly slow to a melting lava pool. It made everything light up around him, all his senses melding together at once. He tasted earth and it turned into diamonds. It was extraordinarily _beautiful_ even as it shredded him apart. And then it was gone. He stopped, peering around him. _Interesting._ It hadn’t been hard to goad her. She’d been trailing curiously after him all day. The closer she got, the more he felt the boy in her aura. His energy and hers had, apparently, met a time or two.

Oh. 

Right. Of course. Trunks was _his_ son. He would have half this goddamn planet lined up for a chance to meet the future Prince of Planet Vegeta. Mm. It even sounded good in his head. This girl must be one of the hopefuls. Perhaps even trying to prove her worth. She couldn’t know much about the Saiyans except whatever the boy knew—which likely wasn’t much, given his human mother. The woman knew how many circuits were on which boards of whatever the fuck it was that controlled his gravity chamber but fuck off if she could tell him what _she_ remembered about his bloodline, five full-blooded Saiyan generations deep of warrior class stock (three patrons of which had sired _daughters_ as often as sons; a sign of dedicated breeding for the best among the nobility). Which she had asked about—apparently _feigning_ interest just to get him alone with her. 

_Oh._

Vegeta burst out laughing and lit her up like a firecracker. _It’s been a long time._ He didn’t bother watching to see if he hit her, she’d be back if he didn’t—or maybe even if he did. It didn’t matter. No weaklings for his bloodline. 

 

 

It led to now, in the middle of the night at Capsule Corp, Bulma finally coming up from a long day helping get the city’s power grid back online (they were hoping to summon the dragon tomorrow). She was tired and quiet, always withdrawn after people were wished back. It was hard, sometimes, seeing them afterwards. Some of them didn’t function very well, being back in the Real after experiencing the spirit realm. She closed her door, turned the lock and let her forehead touch the door. She sighed heavily at the world and the day and it was _noisy_ out in the city again—which she kind of missed but right now, she hated it. And—

“Who is he?”

Bulma froze, a bolt of ice going up her spine. “Wha—“

“I smell him on you. The one with the stupid hat.” He rumbled by her neck and she felt his hand slide up between her breasts to cup her throat. _Vegeta_ , she could smell the spicy musk of him. Bulma wanted to melt back but managed to resist the urge. 

“He’s harmless,” Bulma said, loftily. “He just likes to flirt.”

“And you don’t?” 

“Ha, when I was young, yeah. But I haven’t wanted to in a long time.” She felt his grip tighten for just a moment. 

“And why is that?” His voice was quiet, rumbling with promise.

“Tch, what do you think? Duh.”

His fingers tightened again and she keened into it, tipping her head back a little to breath. She felt his teeth on her neck and his hand slid roughly down. He pinned her against the door, pushing fingers inside her clothes. 

She was slick already, it came over her like waves of heat—memories hitting back full force and all that restrained energy that she’d taken out with him for a very heated few months at Capsule Corporation, some of which involved the gravity chamber. She was swollen and slick and ate his fingers right up. She strangled a moan against the door before she made herself reach back and grab onto him. He took her weight completely and somehow her jumpsuit was off and her boots were lying on the floor. He had a fistful of her hair, pinning her to the other wall. And fuck, pressing inside of her was fucking amazing. He barely had to shift and she was writhing on his cock, mounted against the wall. He picked her up so he could lean in, a palm cupping each thigh. He moved her on his cock, bracing himself against the wall. And the woman, she moved right into it, a wave of heat up his body and holding onto his arms. She was so goddamn _real_. Still here. After all the death. Still here. She was a goddamn survivor. When she couldn’t get shit back that she wanted, she altered _time_ and got shit done.

That was actually pretty impressive. Vegeta (the planet) could have really used a scientist of this caliber. He breathed in her ear and felt her jolt, coming around him. He fucked her through it, raw and rough. Wished he had his tail so he could wrap it around her thigh and leave his hand free to bring her over the edge a dozen times. Or tangle his fingers in her hair again. But for now, he’d have to deal with holding her up himself and fucking her, the slap of flesh and her small, strangled moans and then she murmured something that might have been his name and he came inside of her. Long and harsh and it shook through him, into her, protecting her from his brute strength by forcing the energy into the ground.

 

 

 

In the sick bay, Tapion turned restlessly. He traveled thousands of years, saw ages of knowledge, searching, searching, searching—

And then came the _awareness_ —

On the roof, still waiting for Mai to return, Minotia jolted up. “No-no—Tapion!” He scrambled up, flashing through the air.

Too late.

A massive claw exploded from the sick bay. Minotia dodged and staggered in the air, feeling his half of Hirudegarn pulse in reply. 

“Shit-shit-shit!”

Baba fluttered up to him. “Keep calm, boy.”

“Wake him up!” Minotia commanded. “You don’t understand! It’s too strong—” 

The thing screeched, shooting raw, blistering energy at him. Baba made no move to interfere, looking curious as Minotia screamed. It was painful and harsh and the boy was slammed through a wall of dusty glass storefront. He glowed faintly.

Baba just watched. It would be interesting how they all would interact if forced into combat as a group. It would be a good learning experience for Trunks and Videl.

Piccolo was already coming outside, Gohan was at his side. The half-breed flashed gold. The two of them nodded to each other. Videl and Trunks appeared on the opposite side of the compound. They unknowingly did the same.

Piccolo took the lead, as the most experienced, and he was interested to note that the kid didn’t challenge him. That was a point for the kid, at least. He knew where his strengths were and it wasn’t in fighting building-sized monsters. Which, when Piccolo had still been hanging around Goku, that was, at least, once or twice a year. Sometimes more often when Goku would get restless and Piccolo knew to take the guy outside and go find him something to do. He was a little weird like that sometimes, which Piccolo recognized as an unnatural awareness of energy. But left to his own devices, he would eventually agitate Chi-Chi. But once or twice (usually after a fight-to-kill experience and sometimes just because his Saiyan blood got all riled around the full moon) he’d gotten aggressive with Gohan and Chi-Chi. Not exactly violent but not far from it. Which was one thing when Chi-Chi was around to chill him the fuck out and tell him to go outside and play, basically. And not to come back until he was done being all pissed off. 

But when Gohan hit ten, something started to change on his side. Gohan’s side. He was very aware for a ten-year-old and maybe the Saiyan parts of him were too because he started snapping back when his father would say something careless to Chi-Chi and when she finally once had to step between them—that was when she’d sent for Piccolo. 

“Our house is way too small to deal with the fallout of two annoyed Saiyans. I can handle one but not both. So, Piccolo, take Goku and go do something to work off all that Saiyan steam. I’ve never seen Gohan get like that before. I mean…not to Goku, anyway. Didn’t he learn anything from that asshole, Vegeta? Goku knows every damn thing about you, doesn’t he? Why not Vegeta?” 

Speaking of Vegeta….

The prince was flying up like a bullet. “Now what?” He asked tersely, nodding at Piccolo.

“Trunks!” Gohan called over. “You and Videl make sure you pay attention. We’re gonna learn about group combat today. Pay attention to how everyone moves around each other. Most of these guys have been fighting together or fighting each other on and off for years.”

“I know, right,” Trunks said, lifting his eyebrows.

“Oh, right. Met us in the Past. Holy shit, man. Your life is crazy.” 

“Sometimes I don’t know _when_ I am when I’m dreaming. That is terrifying, let me tell you.”

“Well, _I’ve_ never fought in a group,” Videl reminded Trunks, elbowing him in the arm. 

“Oh! Right. Sorry, Videl. You stick close to Gohan then. He’s a much better teacher than me.”

“You should stay out of the way, boy,” Vegeta snapped. “How we fought in the Past might be different from us now. You’ll just get in the way.”

Trunks snorted. “And _not_ defend the place where I _live?”_

“Guys,” Gohan started. “We should probably—“

“Don’t get cocky, boy. You haven’t proved a goddamn thing except that it’s easiest for _me_ to goad you.” 

“Hey, asshole, you better back the fuck up,” Videl snapped, bristling next to Trunks. 

“There is a _monster_ , out here—“

“Should I know or _care_ who you are besides another pathetic, weak human woman? 

“Says the guy who _didn’t_ chain cyborg Eighteen to the ground and put her on the spin cycle?”

“Would you like to test that gravity power of yours, girl?”

“Dad, not now—“

“GUYS!” Gohan grabbed Videl and jerked her into him. Trunks and Vegeta got hit by a giant claw and went spiraling headlong into a building. 

“It was inevitable,” Piccolo said, crossing his arms. “Honestly, I’m kind of glad I waited.”

“Damn, he is _aggressive,”_ Videl grumbled from the crook of Gohan’s arm, curling her lip.

“Oh yeah,” Gohan told her conversationally. “You haven’t seen anything. Remember when he tried to kill all of us?” He said, looking at Piccolo.

“Which time?” Piccolo grumbled, dodging a chunk of concrete as they shot forward. 

“That’s the spirit, Piccolo.”

“Are you gonna keep holding me?” Videl asked, casually. “Because while I imagine I would be a good blunt force trauma Videl-bat, I am probably a better projectile.”

Gohan let her go like she’d scorched him. “Ah—I, uh, sorry, I—“

Trunks suddenly _(thankfully)_ reappeared. “Where’s Minotia!?”

Videl froze. A wave of cold dread went through her. “Oh no. That’s right, oh _shit_ \--“

“We gotta find him!” Trunks commanded. He whipped around to his mentor. “Gohan—can you guys distract that thing!”

“On it, Trunks!” Gohan gave him a lazy salute and blasted gold from his aura. He watched Videl and Trunks exchange information and then shoot off. 

“Is this the part where you start getting weird about women?”

Gohan chuckled. “Don’t worry, Piccolo. I won’t ask your advice on that one.”

Piccolo snorted and they attacked together.

 

 

 

 

“Trunks!” Minotia staggered up, swimming back into consciousness and then collapsed into the dirt. He was sobbing, struggling to contain it. 

The super saiyan zipped to him in a flash, shoving all the scattered shards of glass with his aura. “Videl!” He yelled and then knelt. “Minotia? Mino—you okay? Hey? C’mon, sit up, buddy.” Trunks braced the redhead up. He was shaking violently. 

“Trunks—take my sword. Take it. I can’t hold on. Tapion—I can’t—I _can’t_ \--Trunks, please. Hurry.”

Trunks froze for half a second _(Oh wow, I was not paying attention. And these two have been holding onto demon monsters while I’ve been screwing around.)_ and managed a choked nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Minotia. Stay here, Videl’s coming.” 

“No, Trunks--!”Minotia grabbed for air and couldn’t get up. 

Trunks grabbed Minotia’s sword, unsheathing it from the polished red leather sheath, a mirror of his own (still perched next to his bed). The swords were originally wielded by one person, assigned to protect the Musicians, the two flute players. Lots of magic in sound. Anyway, the brothers had each touched both swords and they tasted their spirits like a lick of flame through the palm. For Minotia, Tapion’s had pierced his hand like a needle, a jolt of raw spirit energy that _burned_ inside like Naya’s Hot Dirt that she used to make—but his own sword was different. As soon as Minotia had touched it—it lit him up like wildfire but it crawled over his skin rather than under it. It spidered and crisscrossed, prickling strength over his scalp, making him feel electric. It was a heady, bloodlust sort of feeling. He _felt_ Trunks _know_ it and how he thrilled to it. The half-saiyan _burned_ white, his focus narrowed, and he took off in an exhale of dust and power. 

“Mino!” Videl came into view. Strange, she seemed so _dark_ around the edges. Was it night? It was getting dark so fast….

“Shit—no—no—“ Minotia’s eyes rolled back.

Videl shot back just as Minotia was drug up from the ground. He turned a horrid shade of grey and then collapsed. Above them, the mighty tail appeared, smashing through the ruined streets of West City—already evacuated, courtesy of Lancer and Hazard. Now the residents waited outside the gates, watching in awe and horror.

“Oh, shit.” She grabbed Minotia and threw him over her shoulder. “Please, don’t be dead, kiddo.” And took off, running in the opposite direction towards the Western lookout tower. 

 

 

 

Trunks had never felt quite so _electrified_ , even in the ascended form (the “gold form”, his mother had said, because ‘super saiyan two’ was really long and just sounded silly). This sword’s spirit was different. Tapion’s had always felt…comfortable. Like it was a part of him—he felt safer when he had it. He’d kept it nearby for years before he was actually tall enough to swing it properly. He’d always thought that his power and the sword’s power had grown together. He became very abruptly aware that the broken sword of Tapion, in the hands of the spellsword, would probably be capable of things Trunks could not conceptualize. And this sword was the one he'd needed the entire time. 

Minotia’s sword was different. He felt it hum for a good fight. He felt it know his energy. It didn't pull at his spirit energy at all--he'd had to build up a resistance to Tapion's sword (which was how Gohan came to discover that he had it) but this sword was blazing gold, reacting to the super saiyan aura like a floodlight. 

_Hone me to your spirit and I will hone you to the swiftest edge. You have known my friend, he nurtured your spirit. But we, we nurture the body._

Energy tingled through him, it was amazing. It felt like he could do _anything_. He could fucking _see_ each individual scale and dip, looking for weak places and throwing them up in contrast. (Oh, hey, maybe _this_ kind of sword is why King Cold wanted to try using Trunks’ sword on him. Cold thought it might be a magic sword and would bend to his will. But the sword did the spirit equivalent of flipping King Cold the finger and doing backup vocals on Trunks’ spirit energy.) 

_You are thinking about this entirely too long, Trunks._ He jolted back to himself. He was covered in gore. “Ah! Holy shit.” He whirled around and saw the monster coming at him because he’d torn right through the thing’s shoulder. Like—bore a hole through it. Ah. That would explain the gore. Weird how he didn’t actually remember doing it. He looked at the sword. _Holy cats._ The beast slammed into him, pinning him to a mound of broken building. _Oh, fucking monster, right--_

“Trunks!” Videl came streaking through the evening sky like a comet. She pulled two orbs of gravity out of the air and _ripped_ them through the giant claw. It screeched, wheeling immediately. It struck her like a wall made of broken buses, throwing her down into the street. She’d never taken a hit like that before (a saiyan-hit, she thought) and for a moment, she laid on the destroyed concrete, dazed. _Wow, how am I not dead?_

And then choked when Eighteen appeared in her line of vision. 

“Don’t panic, moron. I’m not here to kill you today. Maybe tomorrow. What’s your schedule look like?” The cyborg hefted Videl to her feet, putting an arm around the human’s waist and lifting into the air.

Videl stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here because Seventeen is an _idiot_. Your stupid friend that he likes so much? She found us—not sure how the fuck she keeps doing that. I thought no one could sense us. But when she felt the monster, she came back—but she’s slow as shit because she’s not used to flying.” Eighteen gave a long-suffering sigh. “So my idiot brother decided we should take her back. And see what’s going on.” She zipped over to one of the remaining boundary walls.

Some of the people outside the gates cried out a warning, seeing Eighteen. She rolled her eyes. “Tell those idiots that it’s fine, oh my god.”

“Is it?” Videl asked, warily.

“Yes, shit. So long as my brother wants to help the bitch, I guess we don’t need to kill each other.”

Videl put a calming hand up, seeing Lancer out in the crowd and touching his mind. _It’s okay, they’re with us this time._

She and Eighteen landed on the boundary wall. The cyborg let her rest a moment. “Where _is_ Mai?”

“She went to…I dunno—something about a gun? Somewhere? Mounted up here?”

“Oh!” Videl cried out. “Oh, of course! The June system!” She took off. Eighteen sighed and followed.

 

 

 

Mai was on the north side of the boundary wall, setting a heat level for the canon. Bulma, Mai and Baba had put it together—to prep for air assault. Originally intended for the cyborgs but now, would be just as well for defense of the city. Seventeen was standing beside her, watching curiously. He glanced up at the monster. “That thing is huge. You sure this gun will do something?”

“It was intended for you and Lazuli. So I guess we’ll find out.”

“Aw, just for us?”

Mai fought a small smile. He seemed to catch it anyway and grinned crookedly at her. She shifted a little. It was weird, noticing how he didn’t seem so bad. Maybe because she was once a ‘villain’ herself? But with a second chance, had changed her fate. If he could change, then surely she could too? And, well, like Lazuli was beautiful—Lapis was…well, more pretty than handsome. But not bad at all. 

“You look like you’re thinking,” Seventeen pointed out. “What’s wrong with it?”

Mai looked up, over at him. “Oh, I…I was just…” She huffed. “This isn’t really the time for this but do you ever…. _not_ hang out with…your sister?”

Seventeen shrugged. “I mean, there was never a reason not to. And we’ve been through a lot. But for certain things we’d split up sometimes.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed like a dramatic spy in a movie. “Why, you wanna hang out with me? Without Eighteen?”

Mai snorted at him. “It _does_ get old how she refers to me as _the bitch_ , you know?”

Seventeen burst out laughing. “Ah, Eighteen’ll grow on you. Maybe.” He looked different when he smiled, when his eyes weren’t so laser-focused on the rush of death. “But yeah, we could go blow something up somewhere.”

Well, there _were_ some targets she’d been wanting to practice on out in the desert….

“How do you feel about old tanks?” She asked, pulling the lever and watching the glow begin.

“I _love_ old tanks. Especially blowing them up.”

She chuckled, looking at him sidelong. “All right then.”

“You wanna go right now?”

Mai pulled down her goggles and face shield so she could could let in the tiny sliver of air that would create the vacuum that would set all the other dominoes off. “Well, no. We have to protect the city first.”

“Oh, right. Protect the city. Okay. Got it. Let’s blow the shit out of this guy.”

The barrel was glowing with heat as Videl landed. She side-eyed Seventeen as she made her way to Mai’s side. 

“I totally expected you to fight that one,” Seventeen said, grinning at Eighteen and nodding towards Videl.

“Day isn’t over, dickweed.”

“What do you need, Mai?”

“Influx for the other four. Can you charge them for June?”

“Yeah, of course.” Videl went to a stack of crystal and ceramic cylinders, coated in titanium with a slot of tempered glass. Mai and Bulma had developed special handholds that would allow her and Trunks to charge the cases with energy. It allowed Mai’s canon to fire a super-charged blast. Gathered energy way faster and better than Mai’s old exercise bike hooked up to her homebuilt osmosis filtration system. But the big gun needed big charges and Trunks and Videl had competed several times to see who could fill their cylinder fastest (Videl had finally won after she figured out how to create a vacuum effect inside the cartridge, so it sucked in her energy). Videl pushed one over to Seventeen. “Here, make yourself useful if you two are going to hang around.”

Seventeen shrugged. “Eh, why not. C’mon, sis.”

“Fuck you.”

Seventeen laughed and grabbed one of the other cylinder cases. 

Mai patted the barrel. “All right June, ready to taser this guy in the face?” 

“Are you _talking_ to the gun?” Eighteen laughed, sitting on the ledge of the wall.

Mai sniffed. “All of my guns have names.”

Videl snorted. “Yeah, if you put your ear next to the muzzle, it’ll tell you the names of the others.”

“Videl.”

“I’m not sorry and I’m _not_ apologizing.”

“I was actually going to tell you to watch your ears,” Mai clarified and pressed the trigger. 

The bang was deafening. 

 

 

 

Trunks was turning, letting his power engulf him, flood the sword—good fucking god, the difference was astounding. Like the sword recognized his power as compatible. It was vibrating with eager energy. But things moved so fast—even for him—and it threw him off a little bit each time. But little by little, he was getting used to the speed, bounding across the monster’s mutated back, slamming it into the spine. It shrieked all around him. He saw Gohan dart up as blood pulsed out of the monster, flooding his boots and trousers with thick black-purple blood. It smelled like a rotting sewer of corpses. Like Traveler City, after the rain had stopped….all those people who hid in the sewers and their panic as they struggled to get out as the water rose and rose. And as the others drowned, it forced the water higher and the last one, a child, was sobbing as she died in a soup of other people. 

That was one night that still had him waking up in a cold sweat. Eighteen had held him, pinning the back of his knees with her own, made him _watch_ as Seventeen put a couple chunks of concrete over the manhole covers. She’d slid her hand up his side in that mock-gentle, borderline-sexual way, and the same feeling of ice cold revulsion _(terror, helplessness, despair, oh god, oh god no no no)_ went through him— 

Maybe that was why when the creature hit Gohan, Trunks forgot everything they were doing. _(no no no no)_ He only saw Gohan fall. _(I can still hear the screaming)_ In a flash, he left the spine and fired across the sky like a golden dart. His aura flickered white as he raised the sword and slashed through the other arm. He ducked the tail, flying through an airborne sheet of that horrible blood. “Gohan!” He slid up to him.

“Trunks—what are you _doing?!”_

Trunks stopped, staring as Gohan got up, looking unhurt. It was just a hit, just a minor crash. Nothing big. Nothing…

“Trunks?” Gohan asked, a little more urgently.

“I….” Trunks mouthed soundlessly for a second. “I thought you….”

Gohan sighed a little. “It’s okay. Let’s go, Trunks.” He clapped him on the shoulder and let his power flare up. “Nice to have my other arm back, eh?” 

"Yeah, we gotta....uh. Make sure it stays there. This time. I mean, that's not what I meant--uh--" 

Gohan clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "Still awkward as hell, kid. C'mon."

Vegeta was on the attack up near the head. 

Underneath him, mid-chest, the beam of high-density energy roared out, slamming into the thing. Its shell cracked, flooding the street below with blood and bone matter. 

"Where the hell did _that_ come from?!" Vegeta demanded.

Trunks registered the shift of shadows as the tail rose in the dark. "Dad!" And again, he felt it, like a light flipped on and he was gone, firing away from Gohan.

"Trunks!" Gohan grumbled, looking sidelong at Videl. "You know, he's a lot more reckless than I remember."

"You better not be blaming _me_ for that. I've only been here for, like, six months. He was well into puberty by the time I showed up. Also, wow, has it been six months. Shit. "

On channel twenty-seven, someone said, “This is Jaida out of Marti—West City. West City is under attack but not by the cyborgs. They….actually seem to be…helping us.”

Several people attempted to key in at once, causing a blast of bursting static. Until finally, Dizon said, “What have you been hiding in West City, Jaida! Ever since you went there, no one hears from you for weeks. Then you suddenly pop in and tell us that the cyborgs are on your side?”

“What do you suspect, Dizon? That I _joined_ the cyborgs or something?” 

“Well, no—but something is going on here. No one has heard or seen them for weeks. And now they show up and protect West City? Why? What happened?”

Jaida hesitated and keyed back in. “The Briefs happened. Bulma saved all of us. Trunks is a goddamn hero.”

“Wait! Jade, it’s Yellow-Jacket—Bulma is a scientist—she’s a genius. Did she figure out how to get into their brains and rewire them!?”

_Oh, man, that’s a way better story. And probably more believable than the truth._

She hesitated for an appropriate amount of time and then keyed back in. “Yes. And we found out a great deal about them. They were taken against their will and experimented on by the mad scientist, Doctor Gero.”

“Okay, so _now_ can you tell us how Bulma brought everyone back from the fucking dead? I mean….not everyone. But. A lot of people?”

“Some people _didn’t_ come back,” said the grizzled old woman. “My son didn’t come back but his children did. They showed up at my doorstep, confused and babbling about how they’d been Dead.”

“Apparently, something called _dragonballs_. They—“ Yamcha blew through the containment wall farther down the second story. “Oh shit—gotta go!” 

She was up and out the window. Weird how Baba wasn’t outside right now, wasn’t it? She flashed down the street, dodging debris and saw Mai fly in with Lapis. Tapion had to be near the spawn point. Why would Baba have let him break out of the sick bay? She hurried, zipping across the grounds, dodging a truck and a flying chunk of burning wall. 

Baba was, indeed, still in the sick bay. She was sitting with her arms crossed just watching Tapion.

“Baba! What are you _doing?!”_

“Playing the odds, girl.”

Jaida stared at her and then looked at Tapion. He smashed his fist against some sort of shield that muted all sound within it. He was _enraged_.

“Baba, let him _out!_ Seriously, Baba. What the fuck! Get him his flute and let him go help the others!”

“Shouldn’t you not get involved? _You_ destroyed his sword, after all.”

Jaida stiffened. “That was…it was an accident. I didn’t mean to—“

“Of course you didn’t. You had no clue what you were doing but you picked up a weapon _far_ beyond you because you wanted to play hero.”

“You’re doing this because I broke his _sword?”_

“No,” Baba told her and snorted. “I’m doing this to force them all to fight together.”

“Baba, you can _not_ fuck with people like this.”

“Says you.”

Jaida stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Let Tapion out. _Now!”_

Baba’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “….did he _touch_ your mind, girl?”

“Wh-what?” Jaida stammered, not expecting the question.

“Huh, I suppose you know how Trunks felt when you ‘accidentally’ read his mind.”

“Could you stop!? There is a monster out there that can kill people!” 

Baba looked sternly at Tapion, and the spellsword suddenly went still. A shudder went through his bleary eyes. 

“Baba! Let him out! We need his flute! We have to help Trunks!”

The old witch ignored her. 

Jaida clawed at her own scalp. _I just want to help. I want to help. Why do I fuck it up when I want to help?! I want to help._

She pulled her staff off her back, raised it high into the air—

“If you’re going to try to use magic on _me_ , girl, you better—“

Jaida smashed her in the skull with the butt of her staff. The witch dropped like a rock. So did the shield holding in Tapion. The spellsword looked at the old woman.

“She not dead, right?” Jaida asked.

“No. You knocked her out, is all.”

“Oh good. I feel like she would definitely come back and haunt me.”

“You may yet regret that she lives,” Tapion told her.

“Probably. Let’s go.”

When they climbed through the demolished wall, Tapion asked, “Do you know how to create spirit weapons, Jaida?”

“Baba explained the principle, but I’ve never tried it.”

“Now’s a good time to learn.”

Tapion grabbed her hands and pulled her into the street. “Focus your spirit on your hands, Jaida.” He kept holding her fingers, waiting for her to apparently do so.

She closed her eyes. _Please let me do something right. Please just let me do this one fucking thing. I want to help somehow._ She felt her ribcage expand, trying to pull the energy out. His hands were hot as a brand on her skin, pulling her hands apart and sliding into her presence with his own, guiding her. _Draw down and imagine what you want._

A slender shaft crystallized between them. It had a crescent of a blade on the end. It was taller than she was by nearly two feet but very light. 

“Take it, Jaida. Make it _real_. Draw it into the world, make the memory solid.”

She curled her fist around the middle leather wrap and felt the polearm flare back in reply. It gave her a heady feeling, hard to describe. She looked up at the monster, watching the others fly and fight. _Fuck, I can't move like them yet. I...will just get in the way...._ How could she be of any assistance at all? _I should have picked a bow. I am so stupid. Always so stupid._ What images could one even project for a spirit monster--?

“Can you create shields?”

Jaida nodded, mute with a sudden wave of cold nausea, head ringing. _I really miss my radio. What the heck am I doing out here?_

“Jaida!” Tapion snapped, voice sharp. “If you’re going to give up then you’re useless out here. Go into the basement if that’s the case.”

Jaida’s shoulders curled in a little.

“Look, I either need one hundred percent or not at all. My sword is shattered. But Trunks took Minotia’s sword. It knows a master when it senses one. Trunks is what my brother could be one day. Because like Trunks, he’s more of the ‘sword’ in spellsword.”

“And you’re more of the magic,” Jaida said, feeling like she was reciting something, numb and automatic. 

“So are _you_ , so pay attention. There _is_ potential there, Jaida. It’s easy to give up when you feel like you’ve been left behind. And you start wondering if you’d be better off alone. But you can only be alone if the monster destroys everything and you aren’t selfish enough for that. You told my brother that you were ready to fight monsters. That you _wanted_ to fight monsters. This is our chance. Fight _with_ me, or go help Chi-Chi gather anyone who was left behind in the street or hurt.”

Jaida met Tapion’s bottle green eyes, looking up at him and not sure how to explain how she felt—the idea of making a friend. Friends were not permanent. They were here one moment and then they died. And died. And _died_. But she wanted one so badly that Tapion could feel it in her aura. She just wanted to help someone so _fucking badly._ Her aura, Trunks’, Videl's and Mai’s—they all had more chaotic auras than the others. They were all also extremely lonely, heavy with sorrow, familiar with helplessness. It reminded him of Karukan, another disciple of Matcha. He watched her expression, watched her search the ground and then she looked up. “I can create shields.”

“Then stay with me. We’ll help the others and support them.”

She nodded silently. He shot off into the air and Jaida followed him. 

Tapion kept close to her, letting her cover him while he created a spirit bow. The shafts were pure, glowing light. Lightening hot, they began as arrows but, when fired, they splintered across the night sky, reaching out to zap the beast in multiple places at once. 

“Holy cats,” Jaida said softly, eyebrows going up in surprise. 

Tapion smiled sidelong at her. “Konatsi spellswords are well-known in certain circles, my friend.”

There was a flash of light—

Jaida started, looking around. They were gone. Or they’d moved? Or…everything had changed? They were in a silent white room instead of the city. _(Oh shit, did any of that happen or is this just Baba fucking with me again?)_ But then Tapion stepped into it like a ghost and bowed over his arm. “We have five minutes here, five seconds outside that everything stops. We make this fast.”

Jaida stared at him. “Five minutes here—oh my god, wait, did you _stop time?”_

“Yes, this technique uses a massive amount of energy but, I can create these pockets of space in a way that is actually quite similar to how Videl pulls gravity from the air. Now, this is our first lesson together, apprentice.”

That took her by surprise. “O-oh,” she said faintly. “Um, oh. Okay?”

“Three minutes left. Come here.”

She’d barely stepped forward when he grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her in roughly. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her eyes up at him. He held her in place while he examined her.

“Wh-what are you—?”

“This is how you create a Syphon. I apologize in advance because you will know how to do it after you experience it.”

“Uh, experience _what?”_

He drew his palm back, pulling spirit energy from her (not unlike how Roshi had pulled from Trunks). Her lungs stuttered. Choking. Ah, of course. He was stronger, more experienced, he needed to get back up to strength. So this was the Syphon: drawing life energy from another mage either inside their minds or little time rooms like this (because now she wasn’t exactly sure where she was and which things were real). He took her energy to feed his own. She fought his grip, choking as she struggled to breathe. He grabbed her wrists and soon she couldn’t feel her arms anymore. Things were getting dark, mouth tasted like moth balls, her ears hurt and her tongue felt thick and swollen.

“I’m sorry, Jaida. Stay here, my friend. You’ll be safe. Don’t try to move and _don’t_ get up. You’ll probably puke if you do.”

Jaida stared up at him, dazed. “You…piece of shit,” she slurred softly.

“Are you angry with me or with yourself?” Tapion turned around and left her there, inside the little room. A little bubble of pocket space somewhere in a city under attack by fucking Godzilla. And here she was. Of course. She stared at the ceiling. Her vision was blurred and she felt tears mix with blood from her ears and nose.

He needed energy to replenish. It made the most sense. She was the weak mage around here. But why like that? Maybe he didn’t trust her for whacking Baba over the head. 

Speaking of Baba, she poked her head inside at some point and fluttered in, crossing her arms. “Well, maybe next time you’ll listen to me, girl? Stay here for the rest of the fight. Let me turn your head there—so all that weakness can drain off of you.”

She sealed the space and then disappeared. 

“Anyone else?” Jaida said quietly to herself. “Fuck a duck.”

Her teeth tasted like blood and her shirt was coated in vomit. And it was in her hair and she wavered back and forth between blessed unconsciousness and stubbornly trying to get a hold of herself. Her vision started to darken. It would be easy to kill someone with that syphon really. Suck them dry like a brain-vampire. Did you get their knowledge as well? That’d be pretty cool. 

_I wonder if my mom is alive?_

Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. But she became alert when she heard Trunks say, sharply: “What do you mean? Where _is_ she?”

“Right here. She’s perfectly safe,” Tapion released the seal. The room unfolded from the fabric of the universe, dumped her out and vanished. “A little…ah, well—I had to draw energy—“

“What did you _do?”_ Trunks demanded, prickling on the back of his neck. He felt Minotia’s sword flare in response, eager for battle against worthy opponents. 

Bulma exchanged a look with Videl and Gohan before stepping forward to gently touch Trunks’ shoulder. “Hon, I’m sure it was for a good reason. Let him explain.”

“I am a spellsword. She’s a novice. I taught her the spell by using it on her. It’s just the way that spell works. It’s the same thing my master did to teach me. So yes, she had to learn, just like we did.”

Eighteen burst out laughing. “So he leaves her looking like she just took a beating from a tire iron and _that’s_ okay, but when _I_ do it, you guys get all pissed off.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Videl snapped. 

“Ah, the cyborgs I’ve heard so much about,” Tapion said, curiously walking up to look them over. “You look completely human. Impressive.”

“Get the fuck away from me, Mohawk,” Eighteen sneered at him, crossing her arms and giving him an icy glare when his eyes flickered over her. "What? Like what you see, gingersnap?"

Tapion merely smiled and nodded to her. "You are very beautiful, yes, Lazuli. But that doesn't mean I like or dislike what I see when I look at you."

"Oh wow, you're _so_ deep. Wow, I can't even believe it," Eighteen said flatly, rolling her eyes when Tapion just smiled and nodded again to her.

“Are you really that kid’s brother,” Seventeen asked, pointing at Minotia.

Trunks hated every living thing on the planet for a moment. Especially the oddly smooth, monk-like Tapion. He took a few deep breaths and stalked away. He grabbed the witch up. It had been a few days since he’d really seen her. She had been completely understanding and urged him to spend time with Gohan. Whenever she ran across them, she would greet Master Gohan as such with a polite nod. She might brush Trunks’ sleeve or exchange a few quiet words _(“You doing okay?”_ and _“Yeah, I found another book about dragons. I think you’ll like it.”)_ but she never stayed long. Speaking of—where the hell was Baba during all this? He glanced back at the group and grumbled as he landed near one of the remaining doors. He was still covered in that brackish blood and one of his mother’s bots followed him, polishing away the footprints (he nearly stepped on it twice). He carried the radio operator to her old room. 

It was dim and cool, the bed still covered in several quilts. Like Trunks, the added weight helped her sleep. He felt her aura, completely tapped, near-faint. But her mind was still actively trying to think. He laid her down and touched the fringe of her hair. “Jaida?” 

“Trunks,” she said faintly. “I can’t die yet.”

“Jade, you’re not gonna die.”

“I was so close I could taste it. Like ash. Like when I felt you die in the Past.” Her voice was soft, rattling like an old basement door. “But it made sense, right? I’m the weakest. I’m not angry.”

Trunks blinked at her. “Jaida—“

“It’s dark. It’s always so dark. I’m sorry.” She tried to look away. “I’m so sorry—I—“

“Jade. It’s okay,” Trunks repeated gently. He took her hand and leaned on the edge of the bed, just sitting with her. 

He watched her face go through a mess of emotions: fear, guilt, terror, self-hatred and then caution, taking a shaky breath and intense _relief_ and an overwhelming rush of warmth and grief and gratefulness. He moved his thumb over her cheek, moving a tear aside. "It's gonna be okay." He stood, let her take a moment to breathe. He went to the small adjoining bathroom and got hot, damp rags. She was rattled, vibrating with this sort of needling, sustained horror. She needed to relax. That, at least, he could help with.

He'd watched similar scenes play out over and over again. When Gohan was sixteen and crushed even as a super saiyan and the helpless rage that followed was so intense that Bulma had to take him aside privately. Trunks, then six, had followed. He was always fretting, it seems. Always listening. His reflexes were like a cat, always dreaming of pale sky-eyes. He sat outside the door and listened to Gohan sob to his mother. And Bulma's energy became solid as lead, pulling Gohan's forehead to her shoulder and let his rage bleed out. Like an elder sister and her kid brother. When Gohan had finally quieted from exhaustion, Bulma nearly stepped on her son outside the door. She let him in and he watched her gently wipe down the blood on Gohan's face. He looked dazed but calmer, at least. 

Trunks looked down. He hadn't thought of that day in a long time. 

He looked at Jaida, sweating and shaky and smeared with blood. Her eyes followed him, uncertain again. He picked up one hot rag and gently cleaned her hair. He was slow and thorough, wiping down the strands of blood and vomit. Letting her sense the temperature and the intent before he moved on to her skin. He studied her face, wiping away the sweat and blood and dirt. People always felt better when they were clean and warm. She was no exception. When he touched the pressure points behind her ears, her aura settled down to a quiet hum, focusing on the feeling. The swipes of his rag lingered at the collar of her ruined t-shirt. He shifted closer, watching her as he slid his fingers up under the fabric, riding it up over the flat panel of her belly and then above her breast. He glanced slightly away from her when he did it, suddenly feeling a bit weird about it but not entirely sure why. He helped get her shirt off and then wiped down her skin, cleaning her up very methodically. And then brought her one of his own shirts. Unexpectedly, the best decision he’d made all day, as his shirt hung almost mid-thigh, pulling in new and interesting ways around her small breasts. But not today. Today he just smiled fondly because, shit, it was kinda cute. 

It felt so much better to be clean. Not smelling vomit. Relieved and starting to relax a little bit again but she still couldn’t move and Trunks was being awful nice about it. And she couldn’t fight the twinge that went through her when he slid his warm rag up the inside of her thigh. But he didn’t let his touch get invasive. He cleaned her up and changed her clothes. It seemed like they should be less used to it. But it was just…life in this timeline. She’d seen plenty of corpses after cyborg attacks and some of them had been attacked and looted. And some of them were naked. When there wasn’t a doctor, sometimes, you had to try to sew people up on your own. Nakedness seems paltry compared to fighting for your life. You just stop seeing it. Until you’re forced to. Or until you want to. But this felt different. He…took care of her. He cleaned her up, even slid socks on her feet and then tucked her under the quilt. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

His voice was soothing, warm and quiet. Jaida made a soft sound and moved her hand a little, finally. 

He didn’t even sound angry or irritated when he took her palm and touched her cheek. “I _will_ be back. I promise. It's all right.”

The kindness was still so alien. But also amazing. Jaida, like Videl, had been alone for so long. Just sitting next to him those first few days with the Briefs' had been weird and difficult. It would sent her senses buzzing. And he was around her own age, knew nothing but the cyborgs and he was tough as fucking nails. And smart. Smarter than he thought he was. Sensible, direct and reasonable, intense and passionate, the half-saiyan was just....well. She just. Liked him. And that he just so happened to look like he did....well...it. He could definitely get a more beautiful girl, very easily. Jaida was not beautiful. And the burn scars mapping large sections of her skin hadn't really helped as far as aesthetics. And now she was missing an eye and most of her faith in anything. So, frankly, she'd been surprised to find him attracted to her at all. Though, probably it was just their similarity in age and the stress he was under. Jaida frequently reminded herself of that. _Expect the worse, hope for the best._ It was just _hard_ to do that sometimes. When Trunks wasn't around, it was easy. She could talk herself down when she was alone. But when he was around her....and for being so powerful, Trunks was also unexpectedly kind. Compassionate. He just wanted to protect people. And when Jaida watched him think, fidget with his sleeve hems, touch the grip of a sword that was no longer there, refuse to take a secondary position to Piccolo, put his heavy grip on her thigh--that was so much _harder_ to ignore. He was honestly good. Seeing him so happy to have Gohan back had made _her_ feel happy. It was unexpected. Weird. But also....nice. 

He returned, lighting a candle on her nightstand. He’d quickly showered and changed clothes. He examined her with those hard blue eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Jaida shook her head a little, speaking in breathless in quiet little starts and stops. “No. You were with Gohan, as you _deserve_. It’s not your fault.”

“I wasn’t paying attention to a lot of things. I let things slip by—“

Reaching out with her mind was easier. _Trunks, it’s not your fault. I’m an adult who made decisions._

“I know. I just didn’t….want you to have to make them.”

_Our timeline is a bitch, Trunks. It seems like we got the worst of every fucking thing._

Trunks smiled a little sadly, and then shrugged. He couldn’t argue with that. “It’s okay though. We’ll be strong, because of it.”

 _Or something like that._ She sighed a little, touching his mind instead. _I’m sorry. I get all down and then—_

“It’s okay.” Trunks slid in next to her, voice comforting and low next to her ear and put an arm around her. “Just rest.” 

_What happened? You won, right?_

“Jade—“

_He took all that energy—he at least used it for something, didn’t he?_

“Yes,” Trunks finally allowed. “Me, Gohan, Videl, Piccolo, the cyborgs,” something in his voice growled over the word, “and then Tapion woke Minotia. Maybe with your energy? Then the two of them went on the attack. He knows some pretty advanced techniques. And he has some paired techniques with Minotia---because they each work with different kinds of energy.”

_You and Mino match. You and Tapion are opposite sides of the same coin. You could be devastating if you learned to fight together._

Trunks sighed softly and shifted, tightening his arm around her. “We’d have to lay down some ground rules first. Don’t ever let him do this to you again, if you can help it. And if you can’t, come find me afterwards so I can beat the living shit out of him.”

_Trunks…_

“I’m serious. He can’t just do this, like this…it’s…” He shook his head against her hair. “Once shit calms down around here…we’ll start working together again.”

_I will be strong enough to help you soon. I swear I will._

“Well, for now, just rest.” He watched the back of her hair as she started to calm down. 

How hadn't he noticed she wasn't there? He cursed his stupidity, just one mistake after another, isn't it Trunks? He shook himself internally. 

 

 

 

Just like he had high above Capsule Corp, looking down at his friends, Gohan's friends, running through their faces and then his eyes sharpened. "Wait," he said aloud. He ran his eyes over everyone else. "Where's Jaida?" 

And he couldn’t feel her energy. The first flutter of fear touched the back of his neck. He looked at Videl.

But she shook her head. "I don't feel her either, Trunks. Did she get hit by something? Is she dead?" 

And then Tapion and Minotia landed next to him, looking pleased and _why the fuck_ could he sense Jaida in Tapion’s aura? The super saiyan turned on a pin, grabbed onto the spellsword’s armored shirt, glaring into him—maybe the saiyan parts of him getting immediately hostile. And maybe the rest of him as well.

“What did you do? How do you have so much of Jaida's energy?” 

“Trunks,” Gohan advised quietly, looking sidelong at him. 

Tapion bristled back, eyes narrowing on the half-saiyan holding Minotia’s sword. “Why did _you_ steal my brother’s sword?”

“Tapion, I told him to use it. The sword knows he’s more advanced than me. But we’re the same kind of fighter,” Minotia said quickly, raising a hand. 

Tapion glanced down at his brother and then back at Trunks. “Jaida is near the compound. She’s safe.”

Trunks’ grip tightened on Tapion’s shoulder, hackles rising. “You wanna elaborate on that?”

Minotia looked at Videl, pleadingly. And she stepped forward. “How about Tapion just takes us to her? C’mon, Trunks—let him lead us.” She rose into the air.

Trunks let go slowly, eyes tracking hard on the spellsword as he rose up into the air. _If someone else dies because of me..._

Gohan clamped a hand down on his shoulder, keeping Trunks in place for a moment. “Trunks,” he said, quietly, seriously. “Are you okay?”

Trunks looked down and then at Gohan and then away again. “I…yes,” he managed roughly. “Yes.”

“Okay, man,” Gohan said, nodding with him. “Just keep your cool, you know. We’ll talk about Tapion later. Let’s find your friend and make sure everyone is all right.”

Trunks nodded, feeling a tingling in his fingers as the world came back into focus. “Y-yeah…okay. Yeah.”

 

 

 

He felt Jaida begin to fade, nestling back into him.

Too much sadness. He didn't want to think about it sometimes. He combed his fingers into her hair. She hesitated only a moment and then sunk into the feeling of trusting-someone-enough-to-let-them-touch-your-hair. She forgot about worrying. She just felt his warmth, sinking into his touch. He sensed it, felt it and curled up around her. Her hands crawled up, finding his left one, draped over her waist (like it had been when they met, sort of). She touched his rough palm and then curled their fingers together. That made him breathe her in, curling up tighter, closer around her; as if to protect her. No more people hurting. No more dying. No more monsters and blood and corpses. No more dead Gohan. Just—

_—let me exist._

He buried his nose in her hair. They fell asleep safely intertwined in each other. Something real in the dark.


	25. Shenron, Dragon of Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music (from Hiroki's Playlist), Depeche Mode, Personal Jesus: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-9okF0_m1EQ&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO&index=21
> 
> Little Trunks/Jaida  
> Bulma gets a power boost  
> Dragon Summoned: Shenron  
> Wishes made: 2  
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Gohan glanced up at her. Something strange and raw and _electric_ passed between them—
> 
> And Videl blurted out, “And besides. You tried to stop them, did more than anybody else. And only you lived because you’re the only not-idiot around here. I swear to shit, Gohan—half these people are crazy and the other half are lunatics.”

“The Konatsi spirit energy was different than Earth. Our magic was heavily imbued and influenced by sound and vice versus. Music—because it’s almost inescapable. That is how Minotia and I learned.”

Trunks peered at him. “So…music? Like the flutes?”

“Yes.”

“So what made Konats different from Earth? I mean, in terms of spirit energy.”

“That’s hard to say, Trunks. It was different; neither better nor worse. Like you and I, strong but in different ways. My hand-to-hand is likely a little rusty after my long sleep, but I would bet the last five hundred years that I’m still a better swordsman.”

Tapion _felt_ Trunks prickle at that. Though he didn’t seem angry, more curious, interested, sensing a challenge. He watched the younger warrior examine him and then his aura calmed. It smoothed out. Trunks half-smiled a little. “I see what you did there.” He grimaced. “My aura, right? Baba’s told me that it’s too loud. Or something.”

Tapion looked thoughtful, circling Trunks. He felt the young man settle into meditation, but keeping his attention fixed on Tapion. _In case I attack him_ , Tapion correctly surmised. Trunks was so tense he was nearly shaking—he was so ready to be attacked—even when he wasn’t being threatened. The cyborgs had done a real number on him, no wonder he felt something cold and dark whenever he thought of the twins. Something angry and confusing when it connected to Jaida’s request, respecting what she’d learned and viewing her with some strange affection but also enraged that he’d gone through so much only to be asked not to do the _one goddamn thing_ he’d gone into the Past to accomplish in the fucking first place?! That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair. He had to find Gohan _dead_ , knowing he had let down their entire fucking _world_ because he wasn’t strong enough to help Gohan. And now when he could pick the fuckers apart with a satisfying sense of closure right in their fucking faces…

And he could _feel_ the resentment from some of the others. Tien, Piccolo and Vegeta _definitely_. This so bothered the young man that it lingered day and night. He tried forcing it away, reminding himself of his Past Father and just trying to get through each day. Waiting for the resentment to end. And meanwhile, word had somehow spread that Bulma Briefs and her son had somehow reprogrammed the cyborgs. Trunks wasn’t sure who had done it—a few hundred people had watched Seventeen and Eighteen fight for West City. That wasn’t to say everyone was ready to welcome them with a hug—but it did turn a few heads. Made a spark come back as discussion lit up wire-to-wire all over the planet. The story spread like lightening. More and more people staggered in each day, coming to try and glance at the Briefs family. Trunks was happy to let his mother deal with them. She was thrilled. He’d rather be alone than be gawked at. And really, he wasn’t a very good liar unless he was in combat. 

“Trunks,” Tapion said and touched his shoulder.

Trunks started, jumping up. He whirled around to look at Tapion suspiciously. “Where are we?”

“I didn’t stop time, don’t worry. I just created a space.” Tapion gestured out. The room was plain, white and somehow lit. “This is an Imaginary Room. Or, voidspace. Or dreamspace—I’ve heard them all used. This place is inbetween all those things. All this is, is a room. All it does, is reflect you.”

“Reflect me?” He glanced around at the blank walls.

“It’s a way to study our own emotions. I’m controlling the Room and so it reflects what I want it to. I can also turn the Room’s attention on you. If you feel anything, it will reflect it. For you to see.”

“And you?” Trunks asked.

“Yes.” Tapion gave him a respectful nod. “I would like to give you some time in here, friend. When you wish to leave, this door will take you back to where we were.” 

A door popped into existence, dark wood and ringed in faintly glowing stone. Tapion stepped through it, leaving Trunks alone.

 

 

The walls were still blank. Trunks peered at them, wondering if Tapion was just screwing with him. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the young man. He was having a more difficult time getting a read on him. Piccolo had taken to observing Tapion when he was in meditation—but the Namekian had indicated that he could sense no malice. Just a wellspring of life energy. He was strong, like Trunks himself was, but Tapion had….none of the rage that Trunks associated with that kind of power. 

What did Tapion use to fuel his energy in combat? Why did he seem so relaxed about it? Trunks was accustomed to exhausting and constant combat but even—

_Not your fault._

Trunks got a chill that reminded him distinctly of the Time Chamber as the walls changed around him to lightening and rain, looking down at Gohan’s corpse. 

But this time, Trunks peered around as the rain soaked his hair. “So it reflects, huh? All right. So if I control what it reflects, I control the room, yeah? So let’s do something I know.”

_Anger._

Things that made him angry, consciously (there were the cyborgs, yes) and then others, unconsciously (everything was better and yet he still felt like something was missing). Maybe it was easier to blame Jaida than to try to explain that he didn’t understand anything and he didn’t know who to trust and was he just waiting for everyone to die? What if the cyborgs were right about Gohan not really being his friend? And since when the fuck did he have time to worry about stupid shit like that?

He shook himself. The room did not. It played on. Ah. So. Not like the Time Chamber then. Images flashed by him, faster and faster. But he felt like time was slowing down. 

_”Why are you so weird about Gohan? You sure want to see him a lot.”_

_”I want to tear Eighteen limb from fucking limb.”_

_”I hate all of them. All of them. I hate feeling helpless about whatever they’ll hate me for today. Not letting them kill the cyborgs, like I don’t want to—“_

_"I want to grab Seventeen by the jaw and crush it. Blood everywhere, under his fingernails, in his eyes, in his teeth."_

_”Good question, Gohan. Maybe if you’d started training me earlier, I could have answered you myself a couple years ago.”_

Trunks tried to pull away. These weren’t…they were…things he might think but never say. Shameful, selfish things. True, sometimes, rage would flare up at these small things. Krillin had commented on it right away _(“Musta been pretty traumatic. Just being you for so long. That kinda thing wears on you, let me tell you.”)._ And Trunks got a funny feeling he might have discussed it with his friends because Tienshinhan had walked up to him the next day and offered to spar with him some time, if he wanted. Which Trunks supposed was the warrior’s way of saying, _“Fight me. I’ll show you I’m totally honorable and I respect you and shit.”_

But he couldn’t stop it. The room kept it up. The more he tried to stop it, the louder it got. 

Baba’s sly face and manipulative eyes. If she hadn’t come along, maybe Jaida would still be the laid back radio operator that he remembered listening to instead of…this ghost that he saw drifting around West City. She seemed lost most of the time. Her smile was thin when Baba made her go strange places with her. Seems like she returned both times looking troubled. Seems like she was always troubled. Trunks didn’t know how to fix that. And with all the hectic things that had happened in the last month….well, it was easy to look away. Apparently, he needed to consult with his mother about his people skills. They seemed to be worse than he thought.

And he _still_ wanted to slam his boot into Seventeen’s back and hold him down while he tore his arm out of its socket. And watched him scream and cry and bleed and see how he fucking liked it. And it would lance that nightmare he had all the time, where he ran and ran and ran down night streets. He could always hear people screaming. Always helpless screaming. And he could never find the source to make it stop. It haunted him. It chased and pursued and he was somehow both. 

He wanted to rip pieces out of Eighteen for every time she’d made him feel that twisted revulsion because she was beautiful and he _hated_ her—couldn’t dare think of her as a person, just a soulless porcelain doll. A doll that touched him a lot, pointedly gentle just to fuck with him. He _loathed_ her for that. And every time she got relatively close (fifty feet or closer) to Gohan or sneered at Videl or eyed Mai or smirked at Jaida, he had to remind himself not to immediately kill the cyborg.

It was difficult containing that kind of rage. He took it out on rocks mostly. Because there was nothing else he could really do. He was still a bit fearful of getting too rough with Jaida—he wasn’t even really sure what he was doing. But it was…heady to explore it. It felt intense but _good_ , warm and solid. She didn’t feel as frail to him now that her spirit energy was expanding. It touched his own and made him feel something that was difficult to describe. The part of her that was bursting with intensity because she had to be in control as she learned about magic and was bottling up everything inside of her—but when he touched her, she came _alive_ under his hands. She responded to every brush, every touch. He paid attention—automatically listening as if in combat—hearing the changes in her breathing, sensing the nervous patter of her heartbeat. How much she _wanted_ but also fear, which he recognized. Take it slow, be careful.

The first time or two he’d gone to her window, he stood there sweating and dirty from training out in the plains. He tapped on the casement and waved when she appeared. She let him in and suddenly her scent hit him like a brick—

_Warm and affectionate and proud and pleased—_

And he _saw_ how her pupils dilated to the change in light surrounding him and something nervous and heated pooled in her belly. She looked away, ashamed of how it made her press her thighs together to try to quell it. But she was burning to touch him. He could feel that just fine. 

The tone changed in her room immediately. He saw little glimmers of dust floating in the dusky afternoon sun. It was brisk and cold with the window open. It made her toes curl into the threadbare rugs she’d pulled in. It made all his nerves sing and prickle. It was weird how it…it was so _powerful_. How much he just wanted to… _do_ things to her. Some of the rage seeped out when he pinned her hands over her head. He slid a shuddering palm down her body, sliding between her thighs and finding her already _wet_. 

How she looked up at him with that filthy smirk up against the wall (as DeadJam announced Hiroki’s Playlist on her rig in the kitchen downstairs) and he tried to remember he was still basically eighteen (right? Also, it would be good when he turned twenty—no, fuck. That was Gero. And Nineteen was the fat clown one. Twenty-one?) _If there are more cyborgs in this timeline too I’m going to go back to Red Ribbon myself and find Gero and kill him._

Hands suddenly touched his shirt. There was music playing and it seemed to give Jaida some courage because she suddenly pushed him so he was sitting on the edge of her bed and she slid into his lap on her knees and her fingers went into his hair, tilting his face up so she could kiss him. His hands went right to her hips, sliding over the soft flannel pants and an old t-shirt she was wearing. It was warm from her skin. She was so warm. And when he touched the curve of her waist, he felt her shudder. Anticipation and adrenaline but still keeping an ear out, like Trunks was, for cyborg-related sounds. They couldn’t relax completely. But they could help each other with loneliness and all that internalized rage. 

Something that didn’t involve murdering cyborgs. 

After so many years spent on tenderhooks, he was a little bewildered at the change. The others—Gohan and his friends—all seemed fine with the shift from constant combat to peace. But it was a bit disorienting for him and for Videl and Jaida; Mai didn’t seem as bothered. Though maybe Mai remembered more about her other life…

She smiled so shyly at him sometimes. He felt the flickers of warmth she associated with him. It had quieted, hardened over after reading the notes his Past Mother had sent. Something in her changed after that. And she’d been dreaming, he knew, of moments in her own past that had been dormant for all these years. But Mai was…she was sweet and warm and kind. Hardly ever prickly but very stubborn. Realistic. He liked that about her. She was more in touch with the world than Jaida. It was difficult to imagine her with Seventeen. And yet the longer she stewed about it, the more the idea became a curiosity to her. The more she looked at Seventeen and saw a person instead of a cyborg (that Trunks would like to break all the fingers of) the worse it seemed to get.

He shouldn’t think _worse_ but he couldn’t help it. 

_I hate them. I want them to die._

Something welled up inside of him, strange and difficult to swallow down. He was dizzy with it for a moment as it got louder and louder. 

_If he hurts Mai, I’ll kill him. I don’t want him to hurt Mai. I will murder him. I should do it now. I have to._

And Eighteen and Videl, ready to start throwing punches at the slightest provocation. He liked that about Videl. He did. He could admire that kind of fire and spirit. In fact, when she’d shown up—slender and rough and dirty and bloody and hot and careful—he’d been drawn right into the intensity of her feelings. And how tightly bound they were. It had been…strangely arousing. Which he could only admit in a clinical sense and never out loud to anyone. He and his mother had had a short and extremely awkward conversation after they found Jaida (which seemed odd, considering who his mother was) and then another as a reminder after Mai came to them.

Boy, had she missed the timing of that train.

Though meeting his parents in the Past had explained some of that. They were so focused on their goals that when they weren’t focusing on their goals, their lives were a total goddamn wreck. 

“ _Train_ wreck,” his brain automatically corrected, in Past Krillin’s voice. He shook himself a little. 

_Bittersweet._

Spending so much time with Gohan, the child. Getting to fight beside Gohan as he bridged the gap between Goku and his son. Taking _second to Goku_ when they fought Broli (that had been _fucking_ amazing. Terrible because holy shit was that poor dumb bastard strong. But amazing.) moving in-sync with Gohan. He had to wonder what kind of influence he had had on Past Gohan. Maybe when he returned to tell them what had happened in six months—he could ask around. 

Hmmm. It was going to be difficult, keeping two sets of people separate in his head. Shit. He already couldn’t remember which Krillin had dated Marron. Or if both of them had? But it seemed wrong to ask—as his Past Mother had gone on a ten minute tirade about the woman when drinking expensive North City Bourbon while she was looking over the blueprints of the cyborgs.

It was weird being the only time traveler he knew. 

Trunks reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of cloth, binding his hair away from his face. There was a reason that Tapion had wanted him to be able to see his unconscious motivations and it wasn’t just because the pointy-eared spellsword could be kind of smug sometimes. 

A mirror appeared on the wall, letting Trunks look at his reflection. His shaggy, long hair. He liked it long more than he expected. And maybe he kind of thought that Jaida might like it too. And maybe so would Mai. He’d always cut it out of utility. He’d never really realized the effect he had on a large majority of girls until the Time Chamber (“Trunks, you’re _my_ son. Of _course_ you’re good-looking, duh! Why do you think we took you to the mall? I’ve gotten twice the amount of discounts today just by having _you_ go to the counter when the clerk is a girl.”). Now that had been awkward.

He felt a twinge of shame, it instinctively making his hackles rise. 

 

 _Humiliation_.

 

“Hey, where’s Stumpy?” Eighteen asked, grinding her shoe into his face. “Oh right, dead. You wanna bite the curb, kid? Or can I just break you right here. Do you have a preference for where your teeth will scatter?”

“You want me to call Liam Neeson?” Seventeen asked, examining some kind of half-scorched electronic toy.

Eighteen burst out laughing and looked down at Trunks. “Do you know who that is, kid?”

Trunks was bleeding heavily from his scalp. And something was wrong with his left knee. It was mangled, he thought. Raspberry jelly-ish. He stared up at her blankly. 

“Oh, that’s so sad,” Eighteen said, looking back at Seventeen. “He doesn’t know who that is. I wonder if Liam Neeson is dead.”

“The guy trained Obi-Wan Kenobi," Seventeen reminded her, finally getting a beep out of the toy. "Pretty sure he’s indestructible. He might even be a cyborg.”

_I don’t know who Liam Neeson is but if he’s a cyborg, I’m gonna fucking kill him too._

“Yeah, and he would definitely try to Dad us or something. He’d look at you with those big, sad, understanding eyes and you’d suddenly—“

Trunks lunged. Eighteen grabbed him by the throat and choke-slammed him. “What’s the matter, Trunks? Needed me to pay attention?” She shoved him to his knees, suppressing him easily with her energy. “Men do that to me a lot. And I guess it must be tough, you know? You’re growing older and you’ve got all this pent up aggression and no outlets. And no one strong enough to withstand you if you got going.” Eighteen ran her fingers through his blood-matted hair. “And you’re half-Saiyan and at least partially Vegeta so no chance of you ever actually being able to sustain any kind of relationship with anyone. Does it drive you nuts, knowing that, kid?”

Trunks shuddered, fighting her energy. He flared when she said that, unable to help the rage it immediately sparked. 

“Aw, poor baby,” Eighteen smirked and cupped his jaw in her hands, sliding her fingers mock-gently into his blood-streaked hair, the purple looked like matted silver with the blood. She touched the sensitive curve of his ear. She _felt_ him hate her. Felt how her touch terrified and enraged him.

 

 

How it all suddenly shifted around them. To Eighteen as a teenager, a little smaller than she was now. She was Lazuli here and Trunks was no longer held by her but standing off to the side. Just observing. He started at the change. _What…._

Shit, Eighteen wasn’t in here _with_ him, right?! He couldn’t see her—the regular version—just the younger one as the door suddenly burst open. Gero entered with a couple of his goons. She immediately on her feet, bracing herself.

“We’re going to teach you some actual combat, Lazuli. You and Lapis will need extensive training to kill Son Goku—“

“Fuck you and fuck Son Goku. I don’t give a fucking _shit_ about the—“

One of the goons struck her with the butt of its rifle. 

“Seems you still need discipline. No matter how many days it takes,” Gero nodded to the goons, “break her. We can’t continue until we do. I’ll work on Lapis’ eye implants in the meantime.”

One of them removed its belt while the other shocked her with a cattle prod. It forced her to her knees. The one with the belt bound her hands behind her back and then removed its knife to strip her.

Trunks closed his eyes so at least he didn’t have to watch. But somehow only listening to them brutalize her was….worse. He didn’t want to see this. This didn’t excuse the murders she’d committed. The terrible things she’d done—not only to him but to his goddamn world. Everyone has suffered. Her suffering doesn’t excuse—

“No, true, but it does explain, boy.” Baba appeared.

Trunks started. “Baba! What are you doing here?”

“I felt a disturbance in the fabric of the universe or whatever. So I came to investigate. Tapion is sitting outside meditating, so I presume he’s fucking with _something_ he shouldn’t be. And, surprise surprise, it’s you. But, at least, you seem a willing participant this time.” Baba floated around to face him, examining him closely. “Are you all right, boy?”

Trunks took a deep breath. Somehow, seeing the cranky old witch was rather comforting. It grounded him. “Yes. Tapion was showing me…I guess this is a reflecting room? Sort of like the Time Chamber but not.”

“Hmmm,” Baba mused. “Interesting. Did you understand what you were seeing? Or why you were seeing it?”

“Because…” Trunks paused, hesitating. “Because I don’t think of the cyborgs as people.”

“It’s much easier to fight an enemy that you can hate. It’s much harder to try to understand your enemy. Your father showed you that, didn’t he? In the Time Chamber?”

Trunks looked down. “You mean his…how he hates Goku?”

“And yet the more he observed and studied Goku, the more anti-hero he became. Which made him surprisingly loyal, even though he tended to arrive unnoticed and then would hang back and observe until it looked like Goku or Piccolo or Gohan needed him. Vegeta was an excellent shock-force. He didn’t have Goku’s brute power. He knew that deep down. But he was fast and he was chaotic and unpredictable. That’s what he was good at. He could change the tide of a battle or hold his own until others arrived or got back on their feet. Because Vegeta knows that everyone expects him to brag and boast and _buy time_ by making himself look like an _asshole.”_

Trunks started a little. 

“That’s how you have to examine them,” Baba told him. “What are they _good_ at?” Baba tapped her cane on Trunks shoulder. “What do they respond to? Direct and blunt like Vegeta? Familiar and friendly like Gohan? Joking like Videl? If you’re going to lead them, boy, you have to _know_ them. They won’t trust you, otherwise.”

“I never said I _wanted_ to lead them. I just didn’t want what I saw in the Past to happen here. I like Piccolo and Goku and even my dad—but the way that they made decisions for everyone, I didn’t like it. Their egos were more important than what would actually help us all. I should have gotten to train with Gohan and Goku on my own.”

Baba studied him. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Trunks looked at his hands. “It was my only chance and…I fucked it up. Because I didn’t stand up to them there. Because…I had no--anything. Authority. Street cred? I dunno. I was a stranger to them. I was an outsider and I showed deference in authority to Piccolo, Goku and Vegeta.”

“As one would expect,” Baba approved.

“I just could have done so much _more_ for Gohan.”

“And you could have learned from the legendary Goku.”

“Yeah!” Trunks exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Goku was able to take Gohan into the Time Chamber and, in a year, had him walking around _all day_ as a super saiyan! _He_ fucking killed Cell. And I _died_. Fuck. I was stronger than Gohan. And if Goku could have trained me. Seen what its like to learn from someone with that _level_ of energy control and just…it was a part of him. Some kind of innate understanding that I’ve never seen before. He’s _amazing._ And I…feel kind of cheated. I wasted so much time on my dad when I could have been doing something useful.” Trunks flickered a little with shame again. “But…my dad came around in the end, I guess. And I want that too.” Trunks quietly examined the floor and then shook himself. “I mean. What? Anyway—I don’t want to have command of a group. If Krillin and the others want to look to Piccolo, they can. I don’t care. But I just don’t want them to start taking command of….of….”

 _”Your_ people,” Baba finished for him.

“I….yeah,” Trunks admitted and breathed deep to get it out of him. “Yeah.”

“Because they might take them away from you. Like everything else has.”

Trunks looked away. 

“So how conflicted are you about Videl making eyes at Gohan?”

Trunks jerked. “What?”

Baba raised her eyebrows at him, pointedly crossing her little arms.

The half-saiyan shrugged and grimaced. “I dunno. It’s weird. But…I mean, it’s almost cliché, right? But I guess Gohan never talked about if he had…I dunno…girlfriends? During Cyborg Apocalypse? I mean, it just never really…came up. Ever.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No!” Trunks exclaimed, looking startled. “No, no—I—I mean, I want them to be happy. It’s just…strange I guess. I knew it would be different, having Gohan around again but…not quite like this. And Videl started asking different questions about him and looking sort of awkward and distracted when he’d come into the room.”

“Unexpected but not sure if it’s good or bad? Off-footed, one might say.”

“Yeah,” Trunks answered, with another shrug. 

“Here’s the real talk truth from Baba,” Baba informed him. “The world doesn’t care about what you want. You know that, I know you do, Trunks. When you find people that care about you, hold on to them. They will be your _only_ loyal friends in this existence of ours. Remember, the world doesn’t care about us—it all comes down to the numbers. You are the common denominator, boy. You are what separates major branches in the timelines. Everyone will know who you are and what you’ve done. They _will_ look to you to lead them. You may not have a choice.”

Trunks looked down. “……I know.”

“Then get your shit together and let’s summon the dragon.”

 

 

 

“Trunks has really changed,” Gohan said quietly, looking down into his cup of tea. 

Videl and Bulma sat at the table with him. Videl looked down too. 

Bulma was silent as well for a moment, then said, “….he…bringing you back afterwards was…I think it _wounded_ him in a way that’s….”

“I understand,” Gohan said, gaze darkening further.

“It wasn’t your fault, Gohan.”

“I know,” the man said, sounding tired, still looking into his tea cup.

Bulma tried looking at Videl but the other warrior just looked at the table as well. “But after Videl came—he got a bit better,” Bulma tried again.

“Not enough,” Videl murmured. 

Gohan was still frowning. “It’s hard watching this with him. There’s so much _rage_. But it’s all turned inward. Vegeta takes it out on his enemies. On everyone else. But Trunks just…turns it all inward like a saw blade.”

Videl glanced up, meeting Gohan’s eyes as he looked up as well. “Can we help him?”

“Maybe….” He studied her. “We should learn to fight together. You and me.”

Videl blinked. “Wh—really?”

“Yeah. We might need to. And Trunks is….” Gohan folded his fingers together on the table. “….he respects you. And he doesn’t want you to go away just because _I’m_ here.”

Videl felt something strange and gaping wide open in her belly. She’d hoped but hadn’t dared entertain the thought that Trunks would still want to…be like that. Be like a younger brother. She wanted to look out for the kid. And that he might still want her around was…well….

It struck her somewhere. Somewhere near her gut or her heart or whatever. 

Gohan smiled a little, something warming in his gaze. As if he knew. “You wanna start today?”

“Sure,” Videl managed, scooting her chair back.

Gohan did the same and they headed outside.

Bulma took another drink and ran her fingers through her hair. “What a strange little family we're becoming.”

 

 

Gohan headed out to the wastelands. He felt Videl follow, a burning source of aggression and spitfire. But also a rather…well….delicate kindness under it. He saw that kindness in Trunks, but there was all that _rage_. Videl didn’t have that. She must have grown up Before. Sure, there was anger and frustration but it wasn’t as ground down as Trunks. It wasn’t as _desperate_. He could tell she’d been uncertain of her place now that Gohan was back and that would be hard for anyone to manage. “How old are you, Videl? Were you a child when the cyborgs came?”

“Yes, I was,” Videl called back as they drifted to a stop above a rocky outland. “I’m about twenty-seven?” She appeared to think about it. “Twenty-seven, twenty-eight.”

“Me too, before I…died. I mean. I mean, back then, I was twenty-f…twenty-four, I think. So now, we’d be the same age, about. I mean, around that number. I mean, not that you look twenty-eight. Age doesn't mean a whole lot--I mean.” Gohan shook himself so he’d stop talking. “Right. So. Can I be a super-saiyan for this?”

“Absolutely,” Videl said, grateful to talk about fighting instead. _Dear fucking god. How is he so adorable?_

He powered up, shaking the ground. He watched her pull her hands through the air. Two dark, curved blades appeared to float over her lower arm. Almost like gauntlets. But they were not attached to her skin. He could _see_ , just barely, the fields that she controlled to keep them there. Her control was _impeccable_. “That is really cool.”

She looked a little embarrassed at the unexpected praise. She smiled and it made her look so…something. Something that made Gohan smile too. 

 

 

At Capsule Corp, Vegeta felt Gohan power up. He peered out towards the badlands. He certainly wasn’t afraid for the runt. There wasn’t any fear in the kid. And honestly, could he still say ‘runt’ with Gohan towering over him like his stupid father had? But he was curious because he felt Videl too. Her power was strange. She drew from the world around them but…also didn’t. When she hit something with it (as he’d watched quietly yesterday when she’d been demonstrating for Mai, Yamcha, Tien and Krillin; attempting to teach them what she’d understood about the ability—which, she admitted, was almost nothing) it was like throwing a punch with a relative (to their insane strength) truck behind it. He’d thought the boy was boasting when he said she was strong enough to hold her own against a super-saiyan. But after watching her…the potential truly was there. 

So Vegeta drifted out, capping his power level so they wouldn’t know he was observing. That’s all he wanted to do—was observe. The boy certainly had gathered a strange group. Well, his son was nothing if not resourceful. 

 

 

Gohan slammed into her—a test hit, really. And he watched the blades turn, shifting like _shields_ almost. It took the hit easily. She smirked up at him and flipped, smashing her gravity-bound leg into his side. Gohan hit the ground like a bullet. He dusted himself off and looked up. 

Videl had her arms crossed, still up in the air. “Are we gonna practice for real or what?”

Gohan clenched his fist and smiled. “Yep.” He phased away.

Videl immediately went on guard, moving in zig zags through the air. She had to really focus to detect him. He was much better at hiding than Trunks. He—

Gohan flashed in front of her. She warped one of her gravity orbs and suddenly fired down, flashing like light. She’d planted one of the orbs to the ground and she was learning how to grab into one and let it zoom her to the others when desired. It was fast as light which was good because holy shit, Gohan was very fast. She’d never beat him with her own speed. Not yet. But with the orbs, it could help give her an edge. She absorbed his hits through the gravity shields. He was incredibly powerful. Did he get an extra boost from being dead? Or had he trained while he was Dead like the others had indicated they had. His muscles rippled, strong and sure. There was an easy confidence there. At first, she only defended. She wanted to see how he fought, what his style was. Trunks fought with his gut—it made him powerful but easier to detect his motivations. Gohan’s were harder. They were buried. That’s right—he’d never had a choice.

Now, he did.

She suddenly disappeared, flashing behind him. She threw a handful of the orbs up, taking command of them so she could move between them like lightening. She smashed her leg into his shoulder—he grabbed her knee in his elbow and whirled to slam her into the ground. She warped her orb and it _yanked_ her to the farthest one away. 

Somehow, Gohan still hung onto her, which was likely the funniest mental image she would ever have. When she landed on the ground, Gohan landed in a graceless heap on top of her legs. Videl laughed and sat up, reaching down to touch his shoulder. “You okay?”

Gohan chuckled, pushing himself up onto his knees with her touch. He leaned into it a little, unconsciously. “You hit the ground first. You likely hurt more than me.” He shifted forward on his knees, leaning down to examine her.

“I’m fine, Gohan. You don’t have to be afraid of hurting me.”

Videl felt his touch stiffen and freeze on her jaw. Something strange went over his face and then he looked away. “Who were you, before the cyborgs?”

“Trunks didn’t tell you?” 

Gohan sat down next to her, folding his long legs up. “No. Just that you were Videl. Not even a last name.”

She sighed and sat cross-legged, like him. “My dad was Mark Satan.”

Gohan started a little, gaze jerking up to hers. She looked down. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, eyes drifting down too. “I…remember when that happened.”

“A lot of people heard about it, I guess.” Videl shrugged, shoulders curling in a little.

“Yeah but…I was there. I mean…I…tried to be. I….” Gohan felt something creep up on him, like a shadow lurking in the dark. “I heard about the match, of course—and I tried to stop it. I knew what would happen. But…I…” Something in his eyes seemed to scatter a little. “….I was eleven. Everyone had just died. And I couldn’t become a super saiyan yet. I tried to stop them but I…couldn’t…” He risked a glance up at her.

She was staring at him in something akin to stunned horror.

“I’m so sorry, Videl. I watched your dad die from the rooftop. And I couldn’t do anything. My leg was broken and my ribs were crushed. I was too weak—“

“Gohan,” Videl said, more sharply. “You did everything you could. I truly believe that.” His warm smile had changed so drastically to fear and tension. She felt it radiate from his aura. It made sense, really. Like Trunks, Gohan had been through several traumatizing events. Over and over and over again. And no one had ever seemed to really ask if he was all right after getting his neck broken on Namek. And he loved his mother, he really did. Videl could see that every time he spoke to her. His eyes were sad and he wanted so much to give her the life she deserved. But he’d been so _weak_. But she was the only one who ever asked…and back then, she wasn’t sure what to do. But she was the one who ran after him when he suddenly forgot where he was and blasted out his window. His dad had just laughed and dismissed it. 

Gohan glanced up at her. Something strange and raw and _electric_ passed between them—

And Videl blurted out, “And besides. You tried to stop them, did more than anybody else. And only you lived because you’re the only not-idiot around here. I swear to shit, Gohan—half these people are crazy and the other half are lunatics.”

That made Gohan smile, breaking the tension. He laughed. “Which one are we?”

“I think we’re both crazy.”

Gohan half-smiled at her, examining her piercing blue eyes and noting how her pixie-short hair was a tousled dark mess that suited her immensely. Her aura was electric and intense and so _warm_. She was vibrating with energy. He felt her come alive when he came at her like he meant it. She thrilled to it. It was a game, a dance, something that let her go all out. She had a scar running down the side of her face that crossed her cheek. Her arms were striped with bands of scarring (from a bike wreck, Bulma had told him). She’d clearly been through a lot and she’d clearly seen fighting before she’d met Trunks. And now she was here and it seemed so cliché but…she made him laugh. Reminded him of what that felt like. She was fiery and beaming bright and ready to fight by his side—like a team. She was so _fast_ and the more she learned to focus this gravity, the harder her hits were becoming. She was bright like…a, a....

Gohan looked down, struggling for a word. He shrugged it away at her curious look. “Just thinking. About being crazy, ha.” He smiled. “You know. We. I mean—I’m glad that we can…kind of be. A…a team. About this. About everything. Especially Trunks. I’ve known him since he was born, basically. He’s a good kid. A good….guy, I guess. He grew up so much while I was gone. I didn’t realize how much until now.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can help but I can try to answer any questions, if you want? Just from what I’ve observed about him in the past six months.”

Gohan nodded a bit, looking troubled and absently touching his left arm—as if to make sure it was still there. “What’s the deal with him and the girl? Baba’s apprentice. Jaida, I think, is her name.”

Videl looked interested at that. “What tipped you off?”

“He’s different about interacting with her. And her smile changes—less forced and more real, I guess. He lets her stand closer to him than he allows most people. Don’t know if you noticed but he never likes being in grabbing range of anyone. Is he sleeping with her?”

Videl jolted, staring at him. But his expression didn’t change, troubled and serious. “I…shit, I don’t _know.”_

Gohan raised his eyebrows at her.

Videl snorted. “Okay…probably. But she can’t get pregnant and neither of them likely know what they’re doing. I mean—it’s puberty for them and stuff, right?”

Gohan blinked at her. “Is she sick or something?”

“No, just—I guess when Bulma examined her, when we brought her back—there was a lot of scarring on her stomach. So, of course, Bulma had to investigate. I guess Jaida had her reproductive-everything removed.”

Gohan started. “What? How—“

“Exactly. We asked her about it but she said she couldn’t remember how it came about. Bulma said later that there were pits near some of the larger cities that had descended into gambling and fighting. Girls are just as vicious as boys when you make them fight to the death—if they’re good, then you don’t want to risk her getting pregnant in case she gets raped or something.”

“Is that what you think happened to her?”

“I’m not sure,” Videl admitted. “I used to hear her on the radio—but she was different after she came here with us and started learning from Baba. She became very….quiet. Lost some of the spunk to her.”

“Hey! We’re gonna summon the dragon! Come on!” Krillin appeared overhead, waving and smiling at them. 

“Ooo, let’s go,” Gohan said, getting up from the dirt. “Have you ever seen Earth’s dragon?”

“I’ve never seen _any_ dragon.”

Gohan grinned. “Then you’re about to see something pretty cool.”

He felt how she warmed to him. And then they were lifting up, flying off to the wasteland. Bulma was in her car with Puar and Oolong. Everyone else flew. Chi-Chi surprised him when she sidled up next to him. 

“Mom, hey, you’re flying.”

“Yes. I did start training again, in small ways,” Chi-Chi said, not quite meeting his eyes.

Gohan looked down a little awkwardly. “I, uh….”

“We have a lot of birthdays to make up for,” Chi-Chi went on, quietly. “We should have a party. I imagine Videl would be interested in planning something with Bulma?”

“Me? Oh, well, I…I guess I can,” Videl said, giving Gohan a mystified look. 

“She’s in her car,” Chi-Chi directed rather pointedly.

“Oh. Right.” Videl shrugged at Gohan and flew off, speeding to Bulma’s car to drop inside.

Gohan raised his eyebrows at Chi-Chi. “Mom.”

“I just wanted to say—you could do worse, you know. Videl is confident, strong and tough. But think carefully about whether or not you want children in the world we live in now.”

Gohan drug a hand down his face. “Mom—“

“I know, I know,” Chi-Chi said, waving a hand in dismissal. “You’re going to do what you want. I’ve made my peace with that. I just don’t want to watch you waste away with no good experiences.”

That made Gohan do a slight double-take at her. 

“And you _are_ a very handsome, strong young man. _And_ smart, thank god. You are an excellent find, Gohan. You should be more confident.”

“Why do I feel like I’m having a flashback in real time?” Gohan asked out loud.

That made Chi-Chi chuckle, which actually kind of surprised him. “I’m still your mother. You’re still my little boy.” She blinked quickly, rubbing at her eyes. “We’ve all been through a lot. But I’m still your mother.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

 

 

When they all landed, Trunks took a mental head count and then stepped forward with Baba and his mother. Gohan wandered over to stand by Videl—so he could explain that his mother wasn't angry at her. Piccolo stood in back with his arms crossed. Tapion was standing in the group as well, Jaida stood next to him, watching curiously. Minotia was eagerly waiting, beaming as he watched Trunks. The younger spellsword had his own weapon back. It was good to feel it at his side again, though it had changed a little after being wielded by Trunks--he found it almost overwhelmingly eager to fight. 

Vegeta wasn’t far from Piccolo. Seeing all that spirit energy made him think about his time in Death. He had explored so many things and learned so much and he was _still_ thinking about all that saiyan bullshit while his _son_ struggled to make a world out of this fucking ruin that he hadn’t been strong enough to protect almost twenty years ago. Being in a physical body again had thrown him a little. He could come back. He knew he would struggle with it before he’d come back to Life. 

Krillin and Tien and Yamcha stood together, with Chaotsu floating over their shoulders. Krillin was practicing drawing gravity from the air like Videl did. Tien had had the easiest time with it. That third eye of his let him see into the fabric of the world, easily. 

Bulma stood over the seven golden balls. “Arise, Shenron, and hear our wish!”

The balls burned brilliant gold and flashed through the evening sky. Like the fiery sunset on the red earth and snow, Shenron took his chosen form before them.

Videl’s mouth fell open, grabbing onto Gohan’s arm to steady herself. “Holy shit.”

“Oh wow…” Jaida breathed.

“It’s a pure spirit-being. Amazing,” Tapion observed. 

"Hot damn! He is so awesome!" Minotia bounced into the air, buzzing up to look at Shenron. The dragon watched him like one might a circling fly. Shenron’s handsome coils looped and rolled over the wasteland’s dust and dirt. His aura was _incredibly_ powerful. An impartial judge of desire.

“State your wish and I shall grant it.” Lightening arced across from coil to coil, golden spirit energy manifesting everywhere.

“Oh, and we have two now!” Bulma suddenly remembered. She flailed. “Think of a second one while we do the first.” She looked back up. “Shenron! In my backyard, we wish for a spirit forge for Tapion’s sword, along with all the materials we will need to repair and maintain them.”

The dragon wound his mighty head down, examining first Minotia, then Tapion with his piercing ruby eyes. The mighty beast breathed in the boys' magic, tasting it. Both spellswords bowed deeply to Shenron. Minotia offered his sword for examination, balancing it and the sheath in both hands for the dragon to see. Tapion followed his example, showing the broken hilt and sheath.

Both spellswords _felt_ the dragon _know_ them.

“It is done.”

Bulma looked at the others. “Okay, second wish?”

“Oh hey, there’s Seventeen and Eighteen,” Mai lifted up into the air to go to them. They were clearly curious but uncertain about approaching, keeping back but in clear view in the air. 

Trunks scowled, hackles bristling and then Jaida suddenly appeared at his side. She touched his arm in a soothing sort of way. Her hands were cold as they found his right one, cupping it gently. He squeezed back and looked at her. “What should we wish for?”

“How about for you to know the Instant Transmission?” Jaida suggested. Trunks perked, brightened at the thought.

“Or ask him to restore electricity and communications,” Bulma said. “It would save us a lot of time and work. Oh, maybe he could replace it with solar panels? Upgrade, while we’re at it, you know?”

Trunks looked down because that was the most logical option that would help the most people. He felt Jaida feel the same thing. “Yeah,” said the halfling. “Do that instead, Mom.”

The dragon glowed and they felt the ground shake as, several miles away, light cascaded over West City as it rebuilt itself around the inhabitants. Satellites went back online, electrical lines were restored, systems replaced with mass solar paneling instead of the shit they’d depended on before. 

“Before I depart,” the dragon suddenly intoned, “a word.”

And then Trunks felt something touch his mind. Something huge and powerful and _shit,_ it was the dragon itself:

“You have been through much, Earthling. You restored me and my Guardian. You have a Dragon’s thanks, do you know what means, boy?”

Trunks blinked and shook his head, too surprised to try and think of an answer.

“It means that sometime in the future, in this future, you may have need for luck. For a god to do you a favor and tweak your chances. That will be the moment that I tilt things your way.”

Trunks stared at the beast and then bowed to him. “Thank you,” he managed, not at all sure what to say.

The dragon turned his noble head to Bulma. “You have become known to us in many universes. You have touched energy of Gods and made us aware of you. As I am the manifestation of impartial judgment, I feel it is fair to tell you that we are not the only ones who know of you. And to even the score, I shall give you a gift to impart the gratitude of the Guardian. Without your mind, Bulma Briefs, we would not be here.”

The dragon curled around, moving in to Bulma. She shook a little as its massive maw was very much within touching distance but its aura was so _comforting_ and _strong_ and was here to assist, not hurt. The dragon breathed her in and, for the first time, Bulma felt a flicker of awareness of it. He was like what a wise old sage was supposed to feel like. There was a hum of power and Bulma felt it zap through her. She felt Trunks startle and grab for her—

But the dragon nudged him away, holding Bulma on her feet with his aura. “Know your potential, Earthling. So much could come from you. You are an agent of Change.”

And with that, the dragonballs spiked into the air and flashed, zipping away to scatter as stones.

The dragon disappeared. Bulma collapsed to her knees.

“Mom?!” Trunks cried out, grabbing her up. “Mom? Are you all right?”

Bulma looked bleary-eyed and dizzy. 

“What did he do to her?” Vegeta peered at the woman. 

Piccolo narrowed his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he just made her aware of any latent talent for magic. And I’m pretty sure a god just told Trunks that he owed him a _favor.”_

 _”Tell Kami he owes me twenty zeni.”_ King Kai chuckled in Piccolo’s head for just a moment. 

“To which part?” Piccolo grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me a long time to write for some reason. I knew what I wanted to happen but I needed to step back and get out of the mindset I was in. I was becoming too bogged down or something. nothing felt right. So I just opened a word document and wrote things down as they came to me, as I could manage to. And then put the parts in order later. Also June is the one year anniversary of a lot of shit and I'm trying to ward it away with incense offerings and shit.


	26. Composure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trunks/Jaida
> 
> A wild Launch appears!  
> Music was: Pink Floyd's Time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rL3AgkwbYgo&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO&index=24
> 
> \------------------------------  
> Bulma huffed and pushed herself up—and was instantly hit by a wave of dizziness. Vegeta scowled, reaching out to steady her with his hand. “Lay down, woman. The old witch says you need rest while your body adjusts to the increased energy.”  
> \-------------------------------

Bulma stared up at the ceiling, feverish.

So, it turns out, gifts from dragons were like some of the hard drugs she’d done at the research university. For science, of course. This was not for science, or something. She wasn’t really sure. Just that everything was brighter. And it flowed with _energy_. And she could _feel_ it. And what the fuck was going on? 

She felt it when Vegeta entered her room. He simply observed her. He didn’t approach. He didn’t seem to know what to make of what was happening to her. But he didn’t leave. He stayed. And simply watched her. 

She couldn’t seem to make her eyes open for anything but she could feel his presence in the room. How amazing…she’d felt energies in and out—but hadn’t _known_ what or who they were. Until Vegeta. She remembered _hearing_ Trunks—high and frantic, catching her gently, like she’d known he would. Her baby boy was such a sweetie, protecting his mother—

 

 

Tapion and Baba were to Trunks’ side in a flash. He whirled away from them, instinctively shifting to protect his mother’s prone form. 

“Boy!” Vegeta snapped, phasing forward to his side. “Stop dragging the woman around, you idiot. Is she still breathing?”

“Bulma?” Gohan appeared next to Trunks. Videl slipped around Baba to go to them. 

“Gohan,” Trunks searched his face for help, near fucking panic. _She’s going to die. She’s dying. She’s dying dying dead. I can't feel her presence anymore_

“It’s _okay_ , Trunks,” Gohan muttered to him, voice stern. _Calm down._ He glanced at Vegeta, giving him a pointed eyebrow raise. “Let’s take a look.” He put a hand on Trunks’ shoulder.

The younger half-saiyan seemed to come back to himself with a shudder of breath. The world sped up again and it was the obvious next step to kneel on the grass. Gohan was here, the others were here. He wasn’t genius. He wasn’t smart. But it was okay because the others were here. He was good at fighting sometimes. And sometimes not even then. And sometimes he got confused: where he was, when he was, _who_ he was and the leylines looked different in the Past. And then he came back and it’d been one thing after another and now everything was reversed but—

“Wake up, stupid!” Baba smacked him upside the head.

Trunks jerked as Baba moved in. “Wha—“

“Tapion, have a look in her head.”

The spellsword glanced at her, then back at Jaide. “Would not you want your apprentice—“

“No, I want _you_ to do it, boy. If I’d wanted the girl to do it, I would have _told_ her to.”

“Somebody do it, _now_ ,” Piccolo commanded. 

Tapion nodded, kneeling next to his mother. Trunks bristled, a film of rage was smothering him. Sticky and pulling and tearing away at him, waiting to hear the words—

“Minotia,” Tapion said softly, calm tone drifting into the air. “Give Trunks your sword. It might help him focus.”

Just waiting, just waiting for his mother to die. After getting everyone back. Because his mother built a time machine. This was the joke, right? It can’t be a complete win. They’ve gotta take her too. His mother was the most resourceful woman he knew. She had slid by death too many times not to be. They’d finally achieved success. So this was the last piece, the last laugh. He got what he wanted but his mother dies. He was so sickeningly certain of it that everything was going grey and then red, _hating_ this fucking world and everything in it and how goddamn _unfuckingfair_ that was—

He looked right up at the cyborgs. Seventeen seemed to feel it first, glancing down at him and then gently touching Eighteen’s shoulder.

Trunks didn’t remember getting the sword from Minotia. It was just in his hand, _singing_ through him. He let his power flare as he glared up at them. “Just so you know. If she dies? I’m gonna lose my shit. And then I’m killing you both. Right now. Today.”

“Finally,” Eighteen sassed, rolling her eyes. 

“Shut up, Ei—Laz.”

“Fuck you, _Lap_ dog.”

“Trunks,” Jaida said quietly. She tried to touch his arm but his aura was needling and agitated and sharp. He was hypervigilant. The sword gave that restless energy razor focus. “Trunks—we said if they atta—“

“I don’t care,” Trunks said, flatly. His eyes turned cold and icy blue. “If the last laugh is that my mom dies, I’m killing them both. Just on principal.”

“Okay, I think it might be making Trunks focus on the wrong things,” Minotia said, glancing a little nervously at his brother.

“Jaida, take him to another space,” Baba snorted impatiently.

“She doesn’t know that spell,” Tapion said quietly, opening one eye at Baba.

“Oh, so you _don’t_ have to show’n’tell for all your spells?” Baba raised her eyebrows. “Just certain ones?”

“I can’t tell if they’re having a pissing contest or if they respect each other,” Minotia mused to Yamcha.

“Hard to say,” Krillin agreed.

"Hey, isn't the chick cyborg the one that hooked up with you in the other Past?" Yamcha muttered.

"Oh, you're right. Oh, that's so _weird._ " Krillin peered out like someone checking that the rain has stopped, looking up at Cyborg Eighteen. Sure, she'd tried to kill him but half the people here had done that too. 

Yamcha mimicked him, examining Eighteen. "This is bullshit."

Krillin made a show of sweeping off his shoulder, smirking at him.

Tapion ignored them, giving a pointed look at Jaida. “I’ll teach it to you in parts—but later.” He raised his left hand, pointing with two fingers and sliced down. “Since I’m apparently an instructor now.”

“It’s called delegating, Legolas.”

“Oh my god, you two, knock it off.” Jaida grabbed Trunks’ jacket.

“Piccolo, Videl, find out what happened to Bulma,” Gohan said, taking Trunks roughly by the arm and then grabbing hold of Jaida’s shoulder. “Go.”

Jaida touched the tear. They vanished.

Seventeen and Eighteen started, glancing at each other.

“All I feel is spirit energy,” Tapion reported. “It’s always been there—but she couldn’t manifest it. I suppose now she can. Coming into power is never easy.” The spellsword scooped Bulma up. “We should take her back to Capsule Corp to rest.”

“Then let’s go!” Videl commanded, hopping into the air and firing off towards West City.

 

 

 

Trunks was only aware of the shift from dayspace to voidspace. The time chamber. It felt like the Time Chamber. _Dark, it was so dark. Always. In the._ His mother was dying, what the _fuck_ was he doing in the Time Chamber—

Gohan turned into a super saiyan and punched him in the face.

Jaida was suddenly shooting forward, putting herself between them, drawing in to raise a shield with her left hand, clawing the fingers of her right hand to prepare to go on the attack—

 _That_ slammed him back to reality.

“No! Jaida!” Trunks grabbed her arms, whirling her around and turning his back to Gohan. “It’s--it's okay….”

She followed on his eyes, a shimmering light shielding her arm, searching his feelings and finding only honesty, shame, responsibility. She drew back, letting the shield fall away. She stepped away from them, letting her kneejerk anger simmer and then fall away from her like a heavy coat.

“Trunks,” Gohan said, looking stern again. “We need to discuss this rage-thing you’ve got going on. I know Bulma was never very good at talking about feelings and sometimes she’s self-absorbed so I imagine it was hard discussing things with her. But I need you to really work on remembering…no one is trying to kill you right now.”

Trunks immediately flashed through about five hundred different scenarios in which he could be killed. “That’s _never_ true,” Trunks said, voice quiet, choked. 

“Bulma _isn’t_ dead but you freaking out has everyone else on edge. So get back in your head, Trunks and fucking _stay_ there. The past is the past, we can’t change _ours_. We have to be able to move on, Trunks.”

Trunks finally looked at him. He felt thirteen years old again, begging Gohan to teach him. “How do I—even….do that?”

Gohan hesitated, frowning at the floor before he said, “….it’s a process. And it’s not an easy one. But it can be done, Trunks.”

“I don’t know if—“

“I do,” Gohan said, half-smiling a little. “I _do_. Because every time anyone thinks you’ll fail—you’ve surpassed their expectations in every way.”

Trunks started a little, looking sidelong at him.

“Am I wrong?” Gohan asked gently.

Trunks looked away to think about it. “I was never very smart.”

Gohan snorted on a laugh. “Compared to who?”

“My mom,” Trunks said, as if that settled the matter.

“Well, no one is. Join the club.”

“Oh, bullshit, Gohan. You’re really smart.”

“Nah, I just learned to memorize things, but Bulma is inventive. She goes at it with her gut. That’s why she can invent amazing things.”

Trunks stared at the floor. “Do—is she okay? What happened to her?”

“Dragon may have given her the ability to sense magic or energy in some form. I imagine having it hit you all at once would be pretty overwhelming.”

“I…I panicked.”

“Yeah, you did. But—it’s been just you for so long—that it’s not surprising. The others will understand. That said—we’ll work on getting ahold of it so you don’t see red like that again. You’re powerful, Trunks. So we have to be careful.”

Trunks nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. Thanks.”

Gohan pushed on his forehead in a good-natured sort of way. “Don’t get so down, Trunks. It happens to all of us eventually. You just don’t wanna end up like Vegeta.”

Trunks chuckled.

By a far entrance, Jaida simply gave them their privacy, trying to feel the fabric and sound wound into the room's walls.

 

 

And now, two days later, she’d woken up. Bulma was overheated and sweating. Trunks had been there when she’d woken up. She could still keep her eyes open then. That was when Chi-Chi was able to convince him that everything was all right and he should go rest. Or maybe go train. Or just go do something. Something that was not here. 

Jaida took that moment to suggest that Trunks might help her study. 

Gohan had been in the wasteland with Piccolo since the day before. Vegeta resumed his lurking whenever anyone else wasn’t around. He was the only one Bulma could identify. It was…rather comforting, him being there. He knew about energy and power. If it looked like she was dying…he’d either help her along or he’d get someone who could assist. He was severely rooted in reality, unlike Goku. _Aw, maybe he did like me a bit._

She relaxed again, feeling his attention shift as he moved forward through the room. He did not touch her, just observed closer. 

Maybe he could feel it as she swam back into consciousness. Her eyes opened. She looked right at Vegeta. For a long moment, the two of them just studied each other.

“What happened?” She managed, finally.

“Dragon seemed to make you aware of energy,” Vegeta said, a bit stiffly.

“Where’s Trunks?”

“Being distracted by his friends. He wouldn’t leave, at first.”

“How long have I been down?”

“Nearly three days, at least.”

Bulma huffed and pushed herself up—and was instantly hit by a wave of dizziness. Vegeta scowled, reaching out to steady her with his hand. “Lay down, woman. The old witch says you need rest while your body adjusts to the increased energy.”

Bulma hesitated, looking up at the Saiyan prince. 

Vegeta huffed. “If you get up now, the boy will lose his composure again.”

Bulma relented, letting his heavy hand on her shoulder guide her to lie back down. She peered at him. “Are you here because Trunks was too wound up?”

Vegeta scowled, walking over to her window with his arms severely crossed. “I’m here because _he_ is a child with little control. Gohan stepped in.”

“Thank you.”

Vegeta jolted a little and looked over at her but the woman was already sinking back into sleep. 

 

 

 

 

She was so warm and real. He wrapped his arm around her, pinning her to him and letting his hands curl into the soft cotton of her t-shirt. He pulled it off her, felt her arch into the pull. His grip was rough, barely restrained, latching into her hips and slammed her down against him, the slap of flesh and the quiet panted breathes. Her fingers were electric, running through his hair. He could feel it whenever he found somewhere sensitive because her fingers twitched, no matter how she tried to suppress it. And he could feel her breathing, his eyes buried in her collarbone. Just a few inches down, leaning her back in his rough palms, so he could find her breast. He took the nipple in his mouth and felt her shudder when he sucked. She breathed sharply into his hair, tightening up around his cock. He felt a faint whisper of anxiety from her. 

Trunks leaned up, studying her eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she murmured, reading the silent question in his gaze. Her fingers let down gently on his shoulders and she shifted. Trunks watched her, hands automatically sliding up into the fabric, skimming over her ribs. She was lithe and scrappy as she slid down through his hands, just an inch. Trunks jerked a little, bowing his head to hide his expression. He shuddered, feeling her clench around him, moving down another inch, impaling herself further. He sensed her heartbeat increasing, focus narrowing, and aura becoming a little unsteady. 

He slid his palm up her bared torso, knew she liked it when he did that. She would never be able to say why out loud (it made her feel, well….sort of….different) but he could sense the shift in her. Like everything else faded away and it was allowed to be just them and no one else. And the strange feeling of what to do with…. _want_. 

He might have to think about this later.

She shifted her hips, watching him closely. Trunks avoided her gaze but his grip on her upper thigh and right breast tightened just a hair. She shifted against him and he tried to remember how to breathe. Everything was getting feverish and dark-tinted. She was exploring how to _take_ him. Deep inside of her where the _suck-pull_ felt so intense and she seemed to be forgetting about the rest of the world, all of her focus was turning to them. And then he felt their hips meet and she cried out softly, Trunks shuddered and his cock _throbbed_ inside of her. That made her tremble again. They both struggled for a moment. 

And then Trunks thrust up into her, eyes sharpening on her. She looked hazy, heated and her eyes were blown wide and dark gold. She was learning to take him—they learned about his unique biology together. When he thrust inside of her that first time and going still and then feeling a pulse rock through him. That had to be Saiyan part of him. His senses sharpened, his hackles coming up and he shifted and she _pulsed_ around him. He thickened inside of her, expanding as he hardened further. She was raw and stretched but she held onto him.

He leaned up, scraping his teeth against her breast and grabbing on to her hips. He slammed her against him, taking her weight and moving her hard, thorough, fast. And then he was up, bracing her back and taking her to the floor so he could pin her open and fuck her. And holy shit, she was writhing, spine arching, and a thin gasping moan escaping from her. He grabbed her up again, pinning her against his lap as he braced open her thighs so he could grind into her. Paying sharp attention when she suddenly cried out, unable to silence it when he slid against the back of her clit. He did it again. Then again and again and then faster. He could grind into her, and she let him, wanted him to. Searching her feelings was so much easier when she was—

_—pinned underneath him, sweating and trying not to moan because they always had to keep quiet, just in case—but god—_

—pinned by him as he thickened further inside of her. She couldn’t strangle the moan that escaped when Trunks hilted into her. She came around him in tight, hard pulses and he grabbed her hips, fucking her through it. He drug his fingers over her rough skin, to the scars all over her back and many others that told a multitude of stories. Held her to him with a palm braced under her collarbones and using the other hand to wind down between her thighs. It was the human part of him, definitely, that made him pay better attention to the auras and feelings of others. He breathed against her ear and she shivered. He swallowed the sound that threatened to escape and slid his palms over her thighs, as if to comfort. She was so tentative about relaxing against him. He could understand that. He’d struggled with himself when she’d touched him the first time—tensing and uncertain but she’d just skimmed her lithe fingers along his hairline before gently cupping his ear. Careful exposure over time—letting her touch him and showing his exceptional control so he wouldn’t make a sudden movement and spook her. So the tradeoff was patience. He could break her in half, she had reason to be careful. And neither of them professed to be very knowledgeable. So the most important thing was to establish a trust of boundaries. He could be careful enough not to accidentally break her limbs and she should be able to keep from wandering into his head. (That had taken a lot of practice. It had happened unconsciously at first—she tapped into Trunks’ thoughts and would be overwhelmed by how intensely he felt her—the experience had been very vivid but Trunks only remembered everything somehow amping up, vision blanking and he’d left hand-sized marks on her and drawn blood and he would not allow her to try it again.) 

“Hey,” he reminded her, quietly. “It’s just me.”

He felt a tentative warmth flood through her. And she nestled back into him. It was a nice feeling.

And then he twitched inside of her. She made a soft sound when he pressed her as deep as he could. And then slid his fingers over her, massaging at her. He felt her pulse around him in surprise. And the spike of _heat_ that lanced through her was potent. It was more…affectionate too. Which Trunks didn’t really know was a thing. Like that…this….what they did. Could be more than physical—it already was but they were mostly pretending it wasn’t. Jaida touching his hand when they’d summoned Shenron was the first public display of any kind of affection. As an unspoken rule, neither of them engaged in it. It made them both uncomfortable but it hadn’t been obvious and it was kind of nice, really…helped him remember to come back to the ground—and not see red on reflex when he saw the cyborgs. He was trying _so_ hard to keep his word. He felt her breathe, as she’d half-turned and her hazy gaze was examining him. She was looking at him with all this trust, kinship, worry, camaraderie, friendship—and the shadows underneath it were like his own. Do you get attached to anyone when people die so much? Was the universe simply waiting for them to relax—then release its trap? He saw it in her eyes—she had intense eyes. And then he jerked, felt her fingers curl into his hair and she shifted, leaning into him. He felt that pain spark through his scalp and go down to his toes—something a little overwhelming—that blend of pain and pleasure. His vision went hazy—

He turned them over, flipped her onto her back—

He pushed his fingers into her hair, tangling into the auburn strands. He was afraid to pull something as delicate as human hair but he flooded her skin with energy—and felt her vibrate with the feeling. Her lungs went high and breathy, fingers wrapping into his pin-straight hair—

That feeling again. Hazy and odd and the closest he’d ever experienced to it was combat (naturally), the first few times he’d turned super saiyan and bloodlust, just in general. It did not hit him often, but when it did it was like this—

Another jolt of electric pain went through his scalp. Certainly, he could have raised his energy to simply ignore it but…to let down that instinct to fight it…knowing she certainly wasn’t going to hurt him. It, well, it might be good to—

He drug his palm up her back, mapping over the webbing of scars. Tingling energy followed, seeping into the molted tissue. And in the dim light, he saw her little cringe. “They’re just scars,” he murmured softly. “It’s a map.” He chuckled. “Besides, if you had _no_ scars, I’d wonder if you weren’t a time traveler.”

He felt something raw cross her gaze. He watched her aura settle again with that little bit of reassurance. She burrowed into him, curling up small and tight. “You have a lot of scars,” she murmured to his collarbones. 

“Lots of fights, I guess.” Trunks glanced at her.

She looked down. “Sorry, I don’t want to think about fights right now. I didn’t mean—sorry.”

“It’s all part of the shit world we live in. We almost can’t help it,” Trunks told her, grabbing her arm and gently taking her off her knees. He dropped her to her quilt. “But your focus beats mine sometimes, so I guess it would take a lot to get you out of your own head.”

He watched her give a little start at him, surprised. 

He didn’t pause. Trunks shifted into her again, pinned her down and grinding into her. He brushed every nerve inside of her. _Every_ nerve. He could feel how intently she was hit by it, wave after wave. It made everything in her _spike_ and he had to remember to not get all bloodlusty or whatever. He already left bruises on her—even when he was trying so hard to be careful. Sometimes he just slipped, like now—hilted deep in her, feeling her tighten and pulse around him and he _throbbed_ in return. She moaned into the blanket and he _fucked_ her, grinding into her and the slap of flesh and her strangled pants and gasping moans and when he came inside of her—she shuddered, tugging him down to her. 

He curled up around her, bristling unconsciously. But she ran her fingers through his hair—could she sense how much it helped calm him down? It was nice for these few moments, to find reprieve from the constant stress. And it _felt_ good. 

He held himself inside of her, hands pushing over her spine and crossing her abdomen to stroke her again, wanted to harden inside of her again. It surprised him. Like he was _insatiable._ He worked her with his cock, felt her accept, _submit_ to him. It didn’t take long, stiffening, lengthening, thickening inside of her again, riding against every ridge and nerve. He was rougher, Trunks became vaguely aware. But she was making good sounds, pleading sorts of sounds, bracing for him and taking it for him. His cock was _throbbing_. Trunks breathed into her ear, trying to stifle the rough groan he made when she came. His fingers tightened on her throat and he followed her, tensing up hard and cagey around her. He heard her take a drag of breath and he lightened his grip instantly. She was panting but there was no anxiety in her aura or her expression. She was tired but she…seemed to be okay. Good, even. Relaxed.

She didn’t care about anything right now—except being here with him. That feeling was so strong that it took only a little focus for him to see it in her aura, reading the cascade of color and listening to them carefully. She seemed to really…

Trunks lay on his side, sliding an arm around her, pressing up against her back. She touched his hand, curling her fingers into his. 

The afternoon sun turned her room smoky gold from some expensive sheets she’d hung up as curtains. Thank goodness she’d wanted to live alone. It smelled good in her room—it always did. It smelled like incense, smoky and intense clove and cinnamon. Her hair always smelled like it when she went somewhere right from her house. Sometimes Capsule Corp was either…everything was covered in oil or everything was sterilized. But here, it was different. Trunks examined her room, feeling her nod off. She had pinned up maps, known radio tower locations, a list of local and long-distance stations, a solar absorber sat right by the balcony door. It provided the house with electricity. She had pictures of locations Trunks didn’t know fixed to a tackboard. And then another by a shelf covered and surrounded by stacks of books. All of them were related to magic or science. (They really _had_ intended to study.)

Well, there was tomorrow, he supposed. (And wondered if he should be concerned by allowing himself to think of tomorrow. Like, as if certain that it would be there.) 

A small set of windchimes clinked by the windows. It was cozy, warm—a bit bohemian, really. Earthy. He liked it. Trunks pulled her sheet up around them and buried his nose in her hair, curling up around her to sleep. 

 

 

 

Gohan hit the ground with a bone-shaking _wham!_

Piccolo was on a pile of rubble, smiling a little when he got up. “You seem distracted.”

“I’ve never been wished back before—it’s kind of weird,” Gohan admitted. “I keep checking to make sure my arm is still there.” 

“I know the feeling.”

Gohan chuckled. “Screw you, you can grow yours back.”

“You did seem rather calm about all this,” Piccolo allowed as they sat down on a mesa in the red desert. “I didn’t even recognize Trunks—he doesn’t even feel normal for you Saiyans. He’s trying to juggle too much.”

“I know,” Gohan said, looking off into the clear blue sky. “And he’s more reckless than I remember. He was more cautious….before.”

“Well, after he lost you—he had to jump in the deep end. Bulma talked about what he was like when he came back from the Past. He’d changed, physically grown—he’d only been gone a day for them. But apparently, he spent over a month there—two years for him and Vegeta, because they went into the Hyperbolic Time Chamber—some kind of room at the Lookout where you can spend a year in there and it’s a day outside. Twice.”

“He went in with Vegeta,” Gohan cringed a little. “Yikes. I don’t think even I would do that.”

Piccolo snorted softly to himself. “Point is, Gohan—you barely knew Trunks when he was a child. And what little you know of him…is mostly gone.”

“No, I spent lots of time at Bulma’s when I was alive, er, I mean—back then. I grew up around Trunks. He was like my little brother. Somehow I didn’t expect to have to remind _you_ that none of you were there, Piccolo.”

“Then why did it take you so long to train him?”

Gohan tensed and looked away. His jaw tightened. Piccolo watched his eyes flood with guilt and shame. “I…it wasn’t that I didn’t want to train him…I just—didn’t want him to have to fight. That day, when Vegeta told me to leave—he called me by _name_ and he told me to go find you. I felt him die. Like everyone else. ” 

“You taught Trunks to fly and some basics to protect himself and his mother—and then nothing until he was thirteen. And yet…he became a super saiyan less than a _year_ later. Do you realize how unlikely that is?”

Gohan startled a little, blinking at Piccolo. “Oh…yeah, you’re right. Wow, now that I’m thinking about it…there’s no way that—I mean, unless he was training on his own? I mean, I visited them a lot—but it was always inbetween…trying to find out who was still alive and…where we could get supplies and, fighting the cyborgs, trying to keep them away from cities. And when I visited…I talked to Bulma mostly—I mean—it was usually for repairs or gear and she’s the best. I taught Trunks what I could, when I could but it’s not like I was just sitting around doing _nothing_ inbetween attacks.” Gohan’s jaw locked, something agitated and flaring with angry familiarity to the topic. “There were people who needed help. And I didn’t know how to really _train_ anyone. I didn’t even _like_ fighting—not like…Dad. And I was always in that shadow. Of, _if only you were like Goku._ and _If you were like your dad…ecetera_ ….so. I guess. Shit just sucks, mostly. And it looks like it will continue to suck.”

Piccolo stared at him, looking a little alarmed at how quickly Gohan had derailed. “It’s not your fault, Gohan. They didn’t understand you.”

Gohan’s big shoulders hunched a little. “I never wanted this. I don’t know how to get to know Trunks as he is now. I should have trained him sooner. I thought that…I was supposed to have all this potential. I wouldn’t need to train Trunks. I’d do it eventually. I’d kill them without _anyone’s_ help. I could protect just as well as Dad—everyone used to tell me. All the damn time. How fucking _special_ I was. How much _potential_ I had. And in the end, I couldn’t do it. And now they’re not only alive, but they might be _friends_ with…Mai? And…maybe a couple of the others? But I can’t fault Trunks for giving them a chance at mercy.”

“I still think letting them go is a terrible decision.”

Gohan glanced up at him. “Would you do it if my dad had asked you to?”

Piccolo hesitated and then sighed. “Probably,” he admitted.

“Trunks has been here without me for the last five years or so. And he was totally alone with Bulma until Videl showed up on their doorstep six months ago. And Bulma somehow sent him to another alternate universe, where he met me and my dad. Ha, he probably knows my dad better than I did.”

Piccolo frowned. 

“But I trust him. Trunks is definitely different now and he’s improved in incredible ways. His spirit energy is amazing. He’s grown a lot.”

“He’s inexperienced, young, reckless—like you said. He’ll get himself or one of us killed.”

“I dunno—he’s used to fighting cyborgs. He’s had to learn to be sneaky to survive. You’re thinking like he’s Vegeta, Piccolo. He’s not. There’s definitely some bleed-over, yeah. Whatever he did in the Past—he clearly tried to learn from everyone there. But he’s developed his own style—because he’s had to fight alone. Now he’s got a group of allies and he doesn’t know how to deal with them. He’s learning, Piccolo. Let him learn. I taught him what I could—but we both know I never had the right mindset for this. My dad knew it, so did Mom. The only one who didn’t know, was me.”

Piccolo looked thoughtful, crossing his arms and he peered out over the red rock. “You gave up a lot for us, for this world, Gohan. Maybe you won’t have to give anything up anymore.”

Gohan did a slight double-take up at Piccolo, as if looking for a hint of mockery. He saw none, of course. Piccolo never toyed with his words. And he didn’t now. “Trunks is stronger than you. It’s okay to let him take the lead, if you want.”

“Trunks has heart but…I don’t want to just dump it on him.”

“He _likes_ fighting,” Piccolo muttered, grumbling a little. “He’ll need someone to advise him. You’re the only one that can get close to him.”

Gohan huffed. “Not just me. I—“

“Have you read his aura? Have you _watched_ him? The kid is _dangerous_. Did you not feel how he reacted to Bulma? He’s _eighteen_ years old. He has all this pent-up anger and no idea how to just be…a regular person.”

Gohan looked at the horizon. “He’s never known….peace, I guess.”

Piccolo cleared his throat. “I know it’s been a long time and I know how Goku could be." Piccolo looked away too. "I know how you struggled with how you felt about him. But he would be proud of you.”

Gohan looked down at his knees, shaking his head. “I couldn’t save _anyone.”_

“Who is _anyone_ , exactly, Gohan? The faceless civilians that cheered when you would lure the cyborgs away from villages and towns. You spared involving Trunks until you absolutely had to. And because of you he grew up…..like you. Rather than Vegeta.”

Gohan chuckled. 

“What I want to say is this: if you ever wish to train, to practice, to meditate—you need only say the word. But I know you had no love for fighting—you were forced into it by….me. You have a second chance, Gohan—you should make some decisions for yourself—just because you want to. Get your head on right before you have to deal with too many other people. Except maybe that girl.” 

Gohan tensed a little. “….w-which girl?”

“Videl, the one who trains with you sometimes. She seemed interested in your well-being.”

“I thought we said we weren’t going to talk about that?”

“We’re not,” Piccolo snorted, rolling his eyes.

Gohan grinned at him. “Man, I have _missed_ you, Mister Piccolo.” 

“Well, it’s not like I can spar with you anyway when you’re so goddamn distracted,” Piccolo grumbled. “Go away until you’re actually ready to learn something.”

Gohan winked at him with a lazy salute and took off into the sky.

Piccolo smiled a little. _Still a smartass, deep down. At least for that._ The namekian looked to the south, watching Gohan’s lonely form fly back over West City. Eyes narrowing when he saw the cyborgs drift in from the opposite direction—clearly with intent to interact with Gohan. He followed, simply observing. 

 

 

 

The half-saiyan stopped in the air. His eyes locked on Eighteen. She was flying towards him with her arms crossed, looking annoyed. 

Seventeen waved. “Hey, Gohan. No hard feelings about the arm?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Gohan said quietly, clenching his fist.

“Ooo, are you _dangerous_ today?” Eighteen scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

Gohan just watched her, silent and still. 

“Sis, just fucking talk to him—Christ. Before you know it, Trunks’ll be up here bitching.”

“Oh, I’m terrified. The teenage boy will use his angst on me. Dear god, someone get me fifteen rolls of paper towel, stat.”

Gohan twitched, rolling his big shoulders. “Hey, you can push Trunks—but it’s your funeral. I wouldn’t test him if I were you.”

“So have _you_ gotten stronger since we killed you?” Seventeen asked. 

Gohan ran his tongue over his upper lip. “A bit.”

“A bit, huh?”

“Stronger than me?” Eighteen asked. “Wanna give it a try for old times’ sake, hot stuff?”

Gohan bristled a little. “Careful. I hear little bro gave you guys a pretty stiff ultimatum. But if you wanna throw it away and give me an excuse to kill you both right now—I can’t say I’d be unwilling.” He raised his left fist. “You think it’s better than the last one? We could definitely find out.”

“Okay—look, before you two start kicking the shit out of each other—Christ, you and him and Videl just get a fucking room and work it out—I just wanna know if this offer from the kid is legit. If we don’t attack anyone—he seriously isn’t going to kill us?”

“That’s what he says. He promised Jaida, I guess, to give you one chance.”

“What the fuck would she care?” Eighteen demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

“I don’t know. I don’t know her that well. But, Trunks asked me to not attack. So I will not. Because I said I wouldn’t. But if you attack me, that’s different. I’ll kill you both and ease a lot of minds.” He shrugged. 

Seventeen smiled. “Can’t blame you there, Stumpy. Tell me when you wanna stress test that new arm.” He started to turn away. “C’mon, Eighteen. Let’s go.”

Eighteen scowled. Dammit, she wanted to fucking _fight_. She had no control any more. The kid had stolen _that_ too. And had left them in ruin rather than a quick death. How Saiyan of him. His dick father might be proud if he ever got his head out of his pride’s asshole. She bristled, growling a little at Gohan. 

“Directing your anger and frustration at me won’t help, Eighteen,” Gohan said softly to her. 

Something cracked through her blue eyes and—

Seventeen moved—

Gohan felt a flurry of strange energy and froze. Videl appeared in front of him, bracing herself in the air at an angle, holding on to Eighteen’s wrist and the collar of her shirt. Seventeen had phased in on Eighteen’s other side, grabbing for her jacket and her opposite arm, curling back to gather energy. Something imploded between the women, throwing them apart in opposite directions. Seventeen quickly stepped in the empty space between his sister and Videl. He did not attack, merely guarded until Eighteen got up. 

Videl blitzed back through the air above the city, flashing to a stop next to Gohan. “Awesome. We can kill them now, right? Sooner than even _I_ gave them credit for.”

“Videl,” Gohan said quietly, raising a hand to stay hers. “They weren’t attacking. It’s all right. Eighteen was just frustrated.”

“I fucking _hate_ you,” Eighteen hissed, with such sincere venom that Videl felt her neck prickle. “I hate you so much. Why did we _spare_ you? Why didn’t we spare Vegeta? You know, there was a guy who was fun to play with. We spent our whole childhood running from people like _you_.” She pointed at _both_ of them. 

“Sis,” Seventeen murmured to her, voice carefully even. “Let’s go.”

“You think that justifies wholesale slaughter?” Videl demanded. 

“That’s all you idiots think of. You think in extremes. I don’t even differentiate anymore between slaughter and killing and murder. It’s all one, long mess of blood and pieces of lives that aren’t mine and never will be.”

“Eighteen,” Seventeen said, a little more sharply. He grabbed her shoulder and made her meet his eyes. 

Gohan peered harder at the cyborg. _Holy shit._ Now, this was different. She seemed a lot more _unhinged_ than he remembered. “Did Trunks do a number on you guys, or what?”

Seventeen scowled. “You know, Gohan, I’m _trying_ not to die today. Don’t antagonize her.”

“You’re awfully confident in our mercy,” Videl said, stalking Eighteen with her eyes. 

“I’m not,” Seventeen said, giving an annoyed sigh. “Trunks is a lot of things—but he keeps his word. And at this point, you’re either going to kill us or you’re not. So either do it and get it over with, Stumpy—or let us leave.”

“Then go,” Gohan told him, watching them both closely. 

Eighteen’s eyes were unfocused. She seemed….odd. 

And then Tapion suddenly idled up to them. “Master Gohan, is everything all right?”

“Oh great,” Seventeen grumbled.

“What the fuck do _you_ want?” Eighteen snapped.

Gohan paused, studying the spellsword. That polite face, the strange little smile--Tapion was a little odd. And he and Trunks couldn't yet seem to figure out how to interact safely. _Sort of like Dad and Vegeta._ "Yes, Tapion. No one has attacked anyone. Right, Videl?"

Her hackles rose, scowling at him, fists clenching so tight that her knuckles were white. She struggled and then looked away. "Right," she echoed softly. 

"You got her barking real good for you, Gohan," Eighteen jeered. "Does she get a treat now?"

Videl's eyes lit up--and only Gohan stepping in front of her stopped her from attacking. The rage was electric, humming over Videl like a storm. Her aura rattled, spidered and flashed, needling at her skin. She felt Gohan's hands flatten gently onto her shoulders. She started shaking her head. "Don't. Don't, Gohan. Move."

"I can't do that, Videl. I gave my word and I intend to keep it."

"I didn't give _my_ word."

"Would you be able to say that to Trunks with a straight face?"

Videl's eyes dropped, she stared hard into his gear. Dark canvas and cotton and boots, a sheath of purple at the belt, like Piccolo. His shirt was loosely fitted. It clung to hard muscle and a burning aura.

"Videl," Gohan muttered. 

She looked up at his stupid earnest face and nodded. "Fine. But I don't like it."

"That's okay. I understand, I really do." It seemed like the most natural thing, to place his palms at her ears, smoothing down to her shoulders. It forced the tension out of her, stretched the muscle. He did it twice more until her breathing slowed down. She was raw and needling and he could _see_ her remembering her father dying in South City. He felt her calm a little at a time, a balm for the roaring urge to tear out cyborg throats.

While Gohan distracted Videl from murdering the cyborgs, Tapion focused on the woman again, studying her. 

"Why the fuck do you always stare at me?" Eighteen snapped. "You wanna take a goddamn photo or something? If you're in to chicks with metal in their faces, go find a nightclub."

"I understand that that's a very kneejerk reaction that you're having. You're feeling defensive, Lazuli. It's all right. I don't know what you mean by _nightclub_ , perhaps that has something comparable on my home planet if you could explain what it is."

Eighteen stared at him. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

Tapion peered at her, seeing the leylines that connected to the earth. Adjusting to this planet's spiritual field was taking some time but little by little, he saw better and better. The cyborgs were fascinating both as a set and individually. Though they must have suffered a horrendous amount under that Doctor Gero the others had mentioned. Not that that seemed to mean much to any of the group as a whole--which he could understand, they were blinded by years of hate and fear. They were driven to desperate measures. But he could see the twins' leylines were different from the others. The cyborgs felt different, how they spoke and moved and _felt_ was different. If he could just put all the pieces together, see what made the mystery, see the story behind them. Just a touch to her mind--

“Hey!” Seventeen said sharply, suddenly more aggressive. “Don’t go rooting around in her head, gingersnap.”

Tapion pulled back. “Apologies, Lapis, I was merely curious at the intense aura I felt.”

Seventeen was starting to look harassed. "Well, it ain't us, dipshit. You're gonna wanna go to door number two or three." He pointed at Trunks and Gohan.

Eighteen suddenly seemed to come back to herself, glaring at Tapion. “Let’s go.”

The cyborgs shot away.

Tapion looked curiously into the sky. “Interesting.”

“Not really. That’s just how they are.” Gohan sighed, sounding tired. He turned back towards West City. Videl went with him, quiet and drawn. 

 

 

 

Neither returned to the ground. She seemed content to fly beside him. Flying seemed to make her feel better and it let them keep a companionable silence. He felt her aura ease when she started to relax again. So _wound up_. Wound up and tightly bound and always blurring at the edges. Videl was always so intense--about everything. Whatever she did, she threw herself into it with everything she had. Gohan admired that. She had so much drive and focus, energy and enthusiasm. Even when she didn't understand what Bulma or Mai or Baba were talking about. Gohan was kind of the bridge between all three, so he was glad to explain afterwards but it was interesting, watching her with the others. She was very protective of Bulma, Chi-Chi, and Trunks. Clearly looking for outlets. All that intensity had to go _somewhere_. Gohan shook himself a little. Squirming like a goddamn teenager at the thought of all that intensity--was it the Saiyan part of him that noticed it? _Yes. So reset right now, Gohan._

The half-saiyan glanced around the city, peering over the tops of buildings like something had just occurred to him. “Hey, Videl—where’s Trunks?”

Videl looked at Gohan and then over the city for an exaggerated moment. “Um. I dunno. Probably out practicing with one of the others. Or maybe at the seaside. He likes it down there. He was so wound up because of Bulma and everything else--it's probably good for him to not be around the cyborgs.”

Gohan looked sidelong at her and smiled a little.

“He needs privacy too,” Videl said briskly.

“Too?” Gohan asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“We all do,” Videl told him a little defiantly, folding her arms as well.

“Of course—and Trunks is…an adult now. And yeah.” He looked away from her, watching the sun glitter on the ocean for a minute. 

“Gohan?” Videl asked softly. She drifting closer, reaching out a tentative hand to touch his elbow. 

He took a moment to get himself together before looking back at her. “Do you want to practice?”

“Are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “You just…I know after brushes with combat, some people feel really amped up—you stepped between me and Eighteen. You didn't have to do that, Videl.”

Videl looked away and shrugged a little. “Instinct, I guess.”

Gohan studied her for a moment, curious at her response. Instinct? Why would it be instinct? Because of his connection to Trunks? His eyes drifted over her uncertain expression and awkwardness. And then made a curious path down her throat. Her clothes were fitted, real fighting gear (compliments of Past Bulma). It was all black. It would be warm to the touch from her skin, from adrenaline and energy. She would be smooth and muscular underneath, scarred yes—and strong, supple with—

Gohan suddenly felt a little uncomfortable and glanced away.

“We should go practice,” Videl suggested loudly. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Gohan swiftly agreed. 

 

 

 

Launch hung up her rifle as she descended into the bunker. She heard her radio rig buzzing as she turned on the solar lamps. The runner looked at it as she took off her jacket. 

“Bullet Farmer, you there?”

She tied her blue hair up in a rubber band as she headed for it. Scooping up the handset, she said, “What’s up, Junkyard?”

“Me’n’Bookman got word from East City—they said word out of West City is that the cyborgs are gone.”

“Bull- _fucking-_ shit,” Launch spat.

“I’m serious. I guess the boss-lady and Hazard made it to West City.”

“So Mai got to help kill them?”

“I assume,” said Junkyard, tone indicating a shrug, “no word yet on the how or why.”

“Then until we know, I’ll just assume they’re still alive.”

“We’re waiting to get more. The Briefs live out there, don’t they? They’re the family that owns Capsule Corp.”

Launch looked at the receiver. _Briefs….I feel like I know that name._ Well, sometimes this happened—little moments where she could swear she had déjà vu but ever since she’d shown up in the underdark of South City without her shoes, badly burned and confused—she’d made her identity around the Resistance. Someone had found her name on one of her belongings. So at least she had that. Otherwise, anything before that was dark. There was just. Nothing. She couldn’t even remember how she’d been hurt. There must have been a fight—but there was just darkness. So she had joined the people who’d found her, all members of the underground resistance that helped smuggle weapons and supplies for small towns and villages. And was the only group, as far as anyone knew, that was still trying to research methods for doing harm to the cyborgs. Or a way that they could help the purple-haired guy (Rumor was, his name was _Trunks)_ in fighting them. Mai had led that team out of North City.

“Bullet?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry—who are the Briefs?”

“Wha—oh, right—sorry. Bookman told me about you. Briefs invented Capsule Technology. Rumor is that the one daughter is still alive in West City. I guess her name is _Bulma.”_

“That name seems familiar.”

“Well, they were pretty well-known before the Cyborgs. Most people have, at least, heard of them.”

“Hmm,” Launch mused. “Like a moviestar or something. I must have read up on her—maybe she made weapons.”

“Their family is pretty impressive,” Junkyard said. “And something must have happened—because all of our satellites are back up now. People are saying they used some kind of…magic? I dunno—Jack said something about a dragon and it granted wishes or something.”

“Shenron,” Launch said quietly. 

“What?”

“Nothing, anyway—so what are we doing? Do we have any orders from South City?”

“Mai apparently invited people to West City—so the resistance could meet and discuss the next step.”

“Holy shit, so this is serious?”

“Oh yeah—shit—after the initial announcement on the emergency channel—it went up like wild fire. Mai’s been on channel 329 a few times to confirm for the underground.”

“Wow…”

“How long have you been gone, Launch?”

“Got back around dawn this morning, I just got the generator going again. I guess it’s been almost three months,” she admitted, looking down at her dusty, dirty gear. 

“Did you find anything?”

Launch sighed. “No. He must have had a lab nearby for the cyborgs to have appeared around South City—but I couldn’t find anything.”

“Well, I’ll tell Jack and the others. Thanks for looking, Launch. We know you did your best.”

Launch sighed again. “Well, you wanna meet in South City then? Discuss what we’re gonna do?”

“Sure—I’ll head out tomorrow morning? We’ll likely be there after nightfall.”

“Sounds good, Junkyard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/1 : Happy Canada Day to bros and sisters up north.
> 
> (Please send help before Trump kills us all.)


	27. Strings of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goku mentors Trunks a little in the Past (because seriously) --also, no wonder Trunks is sometimes not sure when he is
> 
> Also, a bit of Trunks/Jaida 
> 
> \-----------------------------------------  
> A duduk, from what I understand, is an Armenia-type of flute. I had a hard time finding music to write to for this section, until I found this video with various songs of the duduk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5tcbD5in7k&t=392s&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO&index=28  
> \------------------------------------------
> 
> Don’t try to contain it. Let it fill her up. _(Fill me up)_ She shook herself a little and then braced like a stone and let the canister go. It dropped, shattering. Jaida ignored it, suddenly listening. Really _listening_ to the magic imbued in the sound from the ocarinas, fluttering around them, pulling everyone in—
> 
> For the Forge, like all Tapion’s magic, it required a Musician.  
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You can stay at Capsule Corp, duh,” his younger mother said, shrugging a shoulder at him.

Trunks hesitated. “I…don’t want to impose…”

“Of course you’re not imposing, oh my god.” She cupped the side of his face. She was so bold and open with her affection. Learning that he was the adult version of her son seemed to instantly connect in her mind. She thought of the two of them as the same. He was still _her_ son, even if he technically wasn’t. So now she had no problem adjusting his jacket’s collar, combing down his hair or wiping a smudge off his cheek or commenting on some new bruise and threatening Vegeta. It was so…strange. 

His mother had lived a very full and adventurous life before she’d had him. He knew that. She was tied down from helping Gohan because of him. Part of her was tired, jaded, had no time for his innocence. She was the master of control when she had to be. She had held herself, Trunks, Gohan and Chi-Chi together alone. Bulma could barely take care of herself when she was working. Let alone a baby who required 24/7 care. It had been easier to dump him with grandpa and grandma when they were still around Capsule Corp. And then they’d gone into hiding, but were shot down. Bulma found the flying car a few days after. It hadn’t been the cyborgs, the wreckage was picked clean. So raiders. She was still working on who had done that.

Her life was chaotic and intense before she’d had Trunks. It was still chaotic and intense—but different now. Definitely more domestic. That had become a sour point between them when he started simply flying away when he didn’t like what she told him to do. 

Sort of like how she’d been as a teenager. Both the Past and Future Bulma saw that _very_ clearly. Part of her hated it, part of her was so deeply _proud_.

And it showed in the Past, since she knew who he was and who her son would become and goddammit, let’s fucking save your goddamn world! “And god _dammit_ Goku, how are you so simultaneously able to piss off everyone you meet and still keep half of them as your friends!”

“Well, it wasn’t my fault!” Goku cried out, putting a hand on his chest. “I didn’t know how they would handle me letting them live! I mean—“

“Why? Because you think, oh hey, either he’ll become a good person or he’ll go totally apeshit with loathing and he’ll hunt me down! _Awesome!_ ” Bulma did a mocking fist-pump. “Question mark?” She asked aloud. 

Goku cringed a little, waving his hands up and down like a scale. “I mean, this is what I _do_. It’s what I’ve always done! If not for Grandpa, I’d probably just kill _everyone_.”

“I wonder which universe that happens in?” Trunks mused.

Bulma and Goku both gave a strange little start, staring at the time traveler from another universe where all of them were dead. Suddenly intently focused and haunted again. Goku and Bulma glanced at each other at the same time. 

Of the four hundred and seventy-two (could she add time travel yet? She’d technically already done it, after all) things that Bulma was a genius at—one of them was dealing with Goku. She was sixteen when she’d met him. He was an eight-year-old little terror. A fucking anklebiter that like, killed people on the regular. But there was something special about him. He wasn’t vicious or cruel. He was actually a big sweetie. She knew, of course she did—that he meant nothing but innocence because he was so fucking _focused_ on some kind of goal that he couldn’t seem to put into words. As they both got older and she watched him change, definitely after Gohan was born and _especially_ after the first time he’d died. He was stronger than ever…and he was still aware of everyone. But he seemed…more distant. The sense of _focus_ that Bulma immediately recognized. Reading him was like a page of a book. She’d known him longer than anyone. 

The gaze he studied Trunks with was intent, reading her Future Son’s aura, likely. And then he looked right at her. _Goku’s Serious Eyes, dense and heavy._ He nodded towards the door. 

Bulma hesitated, watching Trunks look up and feel the change in tone. “What’s wrong?” His eyes darted between them, tensing back.

The scientist turned away, leaving Goku alone with her son.

 

 

Goku felt Bulma slip away, doing that weird thing where she ghosted off—almost undetectable. Not that it mattered—she was probably recording everything anyway. This young man before him, he needed a helping hand. And Grandpa had always lent a helping hand. So that’s what Goku did too. Energy was his specialty, as Future Bulma had reminded him very pointedly in a _long_ letter he’d had to read. (“Holy cats, Future Bulma, cut to the chase, geez.”) She sounded tired in her writing though. And he felt how Trunks carried that same exhaustion in his words, always polite and carefully chosen. How it was automatic, to get details about himself out and over with, to hear everyone laugh and snicker and gossip and joke and _know_ that his mother would _never_ be that happy. Ever. _And when she dies, I’ll be all alone again._

That cut right to his big, warm Goku-heart. 

There was something achingly familiar about it. Goku leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Trunks.”

The half-human had been quietly waiting for almost a solid twenty seconds. His aura went razor sharp, needling and prickling, the _tired_ look in those hard blue eyes surfaced again. On edge. In case Goku attacked him.

“Tell me how you became a super saiyan.”

Trunks paused, studying him, trying to read something in those dark eyes as everything in him stuttered to a halt. “It….was…the—“

“Was it Gohan?”

Trunks’ eyes flinched a little.

“Come on, now, Trunks. Imagine your place with Gohan was flipped and you could see everything he did. Would you want him dragging his feet because you died? Or would you want him to fight?”

“I’d want Gohan to fight, of course.”

“You wish he didn’t have to, but unfortunately, he does. Because the world is a cruel place sometimes.” Goku turned his chair around so he could set his chin on the back. “I did that to him.”

Trunks flinched, staring at Goku’s oddly resigned expression. “Goku, he….my…Gohan—he loved you. He knew you were different. And he had to reconcile that.”

Something strange came over Goku’s face, as if he’d just remembered that Trunks had _known_ Gohan as an adult and was now seeing a totally new perspective on him. _Oh, Gohan…_

“I’m sorry, Trunks. There’s a lot of things I could have done differently. It’s hard to express sometimes…how much he means to me. Him and Chi-Chi. They’re all I have left. Your Goku got to be with him for three uninterrupted years without death hanging over them. That’s….amazing. I wonder what that was like. And Chi-Chi, well, I just…so full of fire, you know!” He grinned, clenched his fist. 

That million-watt smile made Trunks smile too, looking slightly apologetic. 

“It’s the best thing, almost as good as killing Freiza. Am I right?” Goku raised his palm in the air, grinning. 

Trunks laughed, relaxing a bit, feeling only genuine sincerity from Goku. It was kind of amazing. He ruefully tapped their palms together and then pulled away immediately, seeming unable to help but smile. 

Goku followed him with his eyes when he shifted back. “You don’t like being within grabbing distance.”

Trunks started a little, and then consciously realized what he’d done. “Oh, I—sorry, I didn’t even realize, I just—“

“Hey, I get it. Hell, I still watch my back with Piccolo and Vegeta always lurking around. They’re like giant bats. Except Piccolo only drinks Earth-blood, I guess. Because water. And I’m pretty sure Vegeta just eats rocks.”

Trunks snorted, instinctively covering his mouth with his palm. 

“You’ve also got a reckless streak, from what the others tell me.”

Trunks cringed and looked away. “I’ve never….fought in a group before. I didn’t expect to be so….distracted, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what they told me.” Goku shrugged. “Well, you live and learn, right? I probably would have done the same thing.” 

Trunks blinked. “You would?”

“Of course,” Goku snorted. “Vegeta’s a lot of things, but when we needed him, he was there. He saved Krillin and Gohan on Namek. Gohan saved him in return when he fought….which one had the red hair? Jaice—no, he had red skin. Um—Rekoom? Rekoom. Anyway, Gohan saved him back. My son will be drawn into my fights so long as I live.” Goku sighed a little. “I wish he didn’t have to. He doesn’t like how shaky it makes him feel inside. But Vegeta has his own code of honor and I wouldn’t want him to die before he’s ready to test his strength against me again!” Goku brightened at the thought. “I would have totally saved him—cause man, it would have _pissed_ him right off.”

Trunks burst out laughing.

There it was. Goku watched Trunks’ aura settle as he carefully let his guard down to Goku. The young man was _very_ on edge. He often touched the grip of his sword, as if to remind himself it was still there. He tensed at loud noises. He _hated_ the mall, too loud, too many people, definitely expecting to see the cyborgs in baseball caps or something, just to fuck with him. Goku had observed him idly at the trip. He watched Trunks peer at something curiously, almost like he _recognized_ something. Maybe the kid was wondering if he’d been here in the Future.

Somehow because, holy shit, time traveler. But anyway, the kid was trying to analyze Goku’s pokerface of smiling. He was the master of this game. This kid was definitely at least as strong as him. But vastly less experienced in regards to _types_ of enemies. But there was a leader in there. Goku could see it, hiding and growling behind the cold wolf stare. Hackles raised, shaking inside, first cold and then hot, burning up, energy gathering, focus narrows, coming alive when he broke that barrier each and every time. 

But over all that, Goku could see the heavy weight of _misery_. He _felt_ it. It was so intense in Trunks. He tried to always hide it, that weight. But the longer the poor guy was here and the more events had changed—the kid was probably blaming himself. An already lonely soul and a mind that only knew mostly hurt and failure. There were heavy circles under his hard blue eyes. And he kept trying to talk to Vegeta. Oof, he was determined, Goku gave him that. Kid was stubborn as hell. But then he’d be carefully polite to everyone. He was even kinda shy and bemused with Bulma _momming_ him all the time. That was fun to watch. He saw the prickling annoyance and a hint of _jealousy_ from Vegeta, directed at Bulma paying so much attention to their Future Son. Goku had laughed inside his head for, like, fifteen minutes.

But the boy, right, Trunks. The young man. Everything had this desperate edge to it, expecting the absolute worst—and then flying into an uncontrollable rage: like blowing the upper level of Gero’s lab because his aura almost faded completely when he saw the cyborgs. He’d reverted immediately back to Lone Swordsman because in Trunks’ original time, that’s all he knew. It made sense, if one took the time to look at the dynamics of fighting. Looking at the dynamics in _people_. He never forgot them. Any of them. Though they sometimes mixed together.

And there was something….almost _familiar_ about Trunks. Aside from the obvious meeting three years ago. Goku smiled gently. “Trunks, will you let me to read your mind?”

Trunks hesitated. Didn’t his mother warn him about letting strangers inside his head? But this _was_ Goku. He was a fucking legend. And…he sensed no malice from him. Just…curiosity. Something almost…. _familiar_ ….

“All right,” Trunks said carefully. He tensed up again when Gohan’s father walked over to him. Trunks scrambled up from the chair and Goku just flopped his large palm on Trunks’ head. He grinned and ruffled it. 

“Wow, you really _are_ related to Bulma. Your hair is so soft!”

“Goku,” he grunted, unable to help breaking into a laugh.

Goku laughed too, it was big and warm and made him think immediately of Gohan—

Or maybe it was because Goku was suddenly…. _there_. But not. There were flashes, a riddle of memories rising up with abhorrent consistency. Gohan teaching him to fly, how to protect himself and Bulma, then disappearing for months on end. He always came back with more scars, more exhaustion in his eyes. But he kept trudging along. 

Until the day he died, which, once again—was replayed in front of him like a tired movie reel. Goku seemed merely curious, observing the moment from the outside, searching Trunks’ memories for feelings. It was strange, the _awareness_ he felt of Goku looking in his head. It felt different from the witches. Maybe their Saiyan blood was talking or something. (It seemed weirder that Goku did not look at Gohan’s dead body at all. He was pretending not to see it or something.)

“You have so _much_ potential, Trunks. I hope you know that.” He smiled.

Trunks started a little again. He looked down, shifting awkwardly. “Um, I—well I’m not Gohan—“

“Of course you’re not. But you’re still halfsies from Vegeta. Vegeta’s really strong. Like _really_ strong. You can use that power for a lot of things, Trunks. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You obviously care a lot—even about Vegeta.” Goku half-smiled a little. “And honestly, he’s the one who needs it the most. You have compassion, Trunks. Do you have friends there? A group, like us?” 

“Well, I mean…kind of, I guess?” He briefly described Videl, Jaida and Mai and her team. And then, oh yeah, remembered—

“Wait, _Pilaf’s_ Mai? That one? Wow. Turned into a kid and grew up again. That’s crazy! I think when I first met her, she was in her twenties? If she’s good now, we could get some gear made for her.” Goku smiled expectantly at him.

“Oh, well—thank you, I—“

“Do you know her measurements?” Goku continued.

Trunks suddenly prickled, shifting uncomfortably. “No. I don’t.” His ears felt hot to the touch. “I could guess…I suppose.”

Goku’s dark eyes twinkled at him. “What about Videl?”

“She is about my mother’s size, slender but strong. Which I only know because they traded clothes when she first arrived.”

Goku watched Trunks get more nettled, awkward and suddenly a teenager again. “And what about Jaida’s?”

“I—“ Trunks grunted. “I can guess that. Round about.”

Goku watched the boy hesitate, reading as his aura flexed, rumbling like heavy drum beats. “She’s the one you’re afraid of hurting?” 

Trunks’ shoulders hunched, clamming up. 

“Let me give you some advice, Trunks. Women are not as frail as you might think. Sometimes, they don’t mind a little roughness.”

“Oh goddammit,” Trunks muttered.

“Right? I mean, just look at Bulma and Vegeta—“

“I—wow, no. Not ever. Nope.”

Goku didn’t seem to mind. He looked almost teasing, laughing at him in a way that reminded him of his mother. It was almost uncanny. 

“If you were anyone else I’d call you an asshole,” Trunks told him, laughing. 

“Which is the best fighter?” Goku asked, leaning his chin in his palm as he watched Trunks brighten.

“Videl,” Trunks answered immediately. “She was brought up doing it. And it shows, definitely. She’s the daughter of some big name martial artist.”

Goku chuckled at that. 

“I know, I know—but she was. Mai has a sharp shooter’s eye. But she’s also really good at making things. She made this.” He pulled up the cylinder with the gravity orb from under his shirt and showed it to Goku. The Saiyan prickled a little as he examined it. He gave it an experimental sniff as he opened the cylinder—

The gravity ball was heavier when it fell into Goku’s palm. The man stared at it for a long time, feeling that strange unknowable coldness from it, the unease that Vegeta felt, the puzzled curiosity of Gohan in this present. “What _is_ this?”

Trunks studied his expression. “It’s…Videl made it out of gravity—fabric of the universe stuff, I guess. It originally had a little metal trap, shaped like a ball. But I think the gravity, like…ate it. Or something. Because it appears to be gone.”

Goku studied it, wrapping his palm around it and it was just like being immersed in a warm blanket. Someone with auburn hair was looking up at him with a mix of fear and terror and _god-fucking-dammit Trunks, you better come back_ and that desperate love in her eyes cut him to the bone, her aura was a blazing inferno, bursting at the seams with ferocity to cope with the terror that he would die in the Past and that there was nothing any of them could do. Except wait. 

He felt Trunks pull away from that memory. He felt a deepset gut-wrenching hurt flex through Trunks that the time traveler bore silently, eyes glazing over and swallowing hard around the lump in his throat.

“Who is that?” Goku asked.

“Jaida.”

Goku watched Trunks suddenly look anywhere but at him. He seemed almost _embarrassed_. “She’s from the Future, right? The radio operator?”

“Yeah, Baba wanted her to learn about magic.” 

Goku just smiled crookedly at him. “And, what do you think about her?”

“I…uh….” Trunks hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “Well, she’s…my friend.”

“Trunks,” Goku said and his tone changed to something more serious, focused. His eyes narrowed in. “We don’t tend to live long lives. You should take your happiness when you can.”

Somehow, that was the last thing he expected Goku to say. How did this guy keep surprising him?

And he was _completely sincere_. That was the mindfuck. He _meant_ it. It was bone-deep in gentle kindness to anyone in need. No matter what it was. Even if it was someone like Trunks’ father, who apparently needed…compassion.

Goku watched the flux of emotions roll through the boy. He was trying so hard to control everything. He was shaking with it, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how and he wanted guidance and then the kid looked up at him with those spooky-sincere eyes:

“I don’t…want to hurt….her.” Trunks choked it out, immediately going red as a tomato, shoulders hunching and steeling himself. 

Goku could feel it, how Trunks braced himself to be mocked. His aura was so prickly, he was so defensive, so protective. “Ah, well, I can teach you about that,” he said airily, waving a hand.

Trunks seemed to freeze in place in front of Goku. “What?”

“It’s just learning to control your energy backwards. And you’re great with your energy, Trunks! Man, if I’d been as strong as you at seventeen.” Goku beamed at him. Trunks gave a careful smile, still seeming uncertain if Goku was just fucking with him or something.

“Don’t worry about it, Trunks. You’re here! You’re gonna get to learn so much! You’ll cook those cyborgs like—I dunno, someone who cooks, I guess.”

“Wait, what do you mean, controlling energy _backwards?”_

Goku rubbed his chin. And then shrugged. “I dunno,” he said thoughtfully and chuckled. “Here, I’ll show you!” 

Goku latched on to Trunks’ shoulder and for a moment, their auras conversed, flaring and speaking in a way that was…surreal and strange to _both_ of them. Trunks had never felt that around Gohan. Goku had never felt it around Vegeta. Weird. 

Trunks felt Goku touch his mind. It was flaring bright, like a sun (haha). It was easy to see where Gohan got that warm smile. Their auras had some similarities too. 

“Ooh! It’s because we’ve met so few Saiyans. That’s why you feel strange. I’ve only known Gohan and Vegeta. And their energy doesn’t feel like mine. But yours does. Cool. You’re probably a spirit Saiyan like me. Man, you’re gonna be _amazing_ Trunks! Hey, if you ever find yourself on Snake Way—say hi to the guide for me. He’s probably still there. I got to go there after I died!”

And then images simply shifted into Trunks’ head. He _saw_ Snake Way and the Guide and the strange Snake Lady and King Kai at the end with a hammer.

“Because my father was coming to Earth?”

“That’s exactly why I was there, Trunks.” Goku nodded, pointing between them. “And I knew I would have to be prepared. Your dad is _strong_. Still in my top five favorite fights. If I fall behind for a second, he’ll close the distance and I respect him too much to let that happen.”

“You ‘respect’ him too much?” Trunks asked, chuckled.

Goku grinned at him.

 _I think I'm starting to see why Mom liked him so much._

“Anyway, energy! Cause you see, Trunks. Energy doesn’t have to pull or flow at all. You can move the same way it moves in nature, at will. Why form lightening, when you can _be_ lightening? Energy likes that because then it feels more….clean, I guess. But when you expand your mind, like I do for the Spirit Bomb—you can become instantly as one with an entire _planet_. That was, singularly, the most amazing experience of my entire life, Trunks. That’s the Saiyan bits of us. We’re made durable that way. You and Gohan both seem to carry it to an extent. Though, you _like_ fighting, don’t you?”

Trunks met his gaze carefully, could almost feel the man searching his emotions. Sort of like mental chess, except he was pretty sure Goku didn’t know how to play chess. That strange duality in him of at once being in touch with everything and also being in touch with _nothing_ was fascinating to see in action. Also, Goku's grip on his arm was like a goddamn vice made of vices. 

“Now, I'll draw back,” Goku told him, demonstrating a control that Trunks could _feel_ , as the full-blooded Saiyan dropped his power level to a nearly average-human level. Goku’s energy didn’t disappear. It didn’t…dissipate. It was still there but…

It was like it was trapped in a little box that Goku hid deep in his gut that could be pulled apart at a moment’s notice—and then the pressure and force of Goku’s grip changed.

_Oh. It’s reverse-Videl._

“Now you try, Trunks.” Goku held out one meaty arm.

He hesitated, glancing at Goku.

“Go on!” Goku encouraged, grinning. _Such a good-hearted kid._ He watched Trunks reach out, gripping his arm. Damn, the kid was _strong_. Goku was ready to trade in on his last fifteen fights if it meant he could go toe-to-toe full-tilt with this kid and see what happened. That would be _amazing_. 

He felt Trunks recognize something, pull inward and then a flash of a sharp-eyed, dark-haired young woman. She was a fighter, whoever she was. And her smile was bright and adventurous. Her eyes were glittery blue, like fish scales. 

And then she was flashing through the air, a punishing kick and those goddamn flamingoes caving in by the wall. And her deep smirk of satisfaction at catching him off-guard. 

The same sort of cackling laugh she allowed herself when she realized she was strong enough to fight the cyborgs. That _immediate_ sense of _let’s fucking kill ‘em_ followed up with a very sincere bout of manic laughter.

Goku pulled away. He watched Trunks readjust in his head. “I like her. She seems nice.” 

Trunks didn’t seem to know how to respond. That was okay. The poor kid had a lot on his mind. It was all over the place, really. Like spilling rice on the floor. Which was a bad idea all around because then Chi-Chi would be annoyed if he forgot to clean it up and sometimes his sense of object permanence wasn’t always as sharp as it ought to be. He had to remember to clean that up in the kitchen—because he loved Chi-Chi and he hated annoying her so much. Wait, _had_ he spilled rice in the kitchen. “Did I spill rice earlier? I think maybe I actually did.”

Trunks’ eyes sharpened. “What?”

“No worries, Trunks. Your mind is like a kitchen, you know. Its got cupboards and hiding spots and drawers for things. And that one for batteries and scotch tape and stuff. And banana bread—man, why am I not in the kitchen right now? This is why Chi-Chi is okay with me spending time at Bulma’s. I eat all her food instead of ours. Oh, hey, I’m gonna go make a sandwich. You want one?”

“Oh, uh—no, that’s—“

“Of course you do! You’re a Saiyan! And Bulma was right, you’re way too thin! We gotta put some weight on you, Trunks, if you’re gonna train with us. Let’s see,” Goku mused as he walked away. “Three with ham, salami, bacon, cheese, and mayo….and then two peanut butter’n’jelly cause Bulma has the good peanut butter…”

And the legendary super saiyan Son Goku wandered away, talking to himself as he headed for the kitchen.

Trunks stayed sitting at the table, a little puzzled, a little bemused. But in a way, it kind of made sense. He laughed to himself. 

_All right Mom, you got me. He’s incredible._

 

Meanwhile, Past Capsule Corp’s best gear, supplies, leather, tools, anything he wanted—his Past mother showered him with it. It was overwhelming. She showed him the extensive lists of supplies she was putting together for him to take back, and ordering the very fucking best of what Capsule Corp’s resources could offer so she could prepare the capsules necessary to house them for when Trunks left. She refused to send anything but the best, stockpiling in supply orders and starting a collection day by day in a suitcase. His younger mother seemed totally confident in knowing what his…present—wait, no—older mother? In knowing what _his_ mother would want. He was fine with that. Passing out the letters in the Past had been eerily similar to when it would happen in the future (though technically his time’s Past, but still this time’s future) She had a whole skid of electronics and others of basic supplies like metals, lumber, wiring. Bulma ran her aids, assistants and beaker jockeys like a well-oiled machine. It was a little frightening, seeing all that intensity in action. He smiled when he watched her. 

This was truly where she belonged. Down in the thick of it with her hands dirty, commanding an army even as she was doing calculations on the side. Several of his mother’s blueprints were tacked up in a panel of walls that his younger mother paced around, examining closely, searching for any between-the-lines of meaning that her other self would risk exposing. Her intensity was just like his father’s. 

People ran up to her with questions, she stared at the boards—would be silent for half a second as she seemed to simultaneously think about _both_ and then rattle off an answer. She saw the paths and her mind _connected_. It was amazing, really. Sort of like how he saw leylines after he started using Tapion’s sword. But she saw all paths of all the thoughts she was having with absolute clarity. She was just so _intense_. His own mother seemed so faded and tired in comparison. It stiffened his resolve. 

The room Bulma opened up for him was not the same room as _his_ room at Future Capsule Corp. This had thrown him off for a couple days, when he caught himself going in the wrong direction to his room in _this_ Capsule Corp. But it was a good thing, really. It helped give him a way to solidify in his head, _when_ he was. He could always go check to see which room was his, after all. In the Past, the room that was his in the Future (oh goddammit) was home to Bulma’s favorite inventions and science-toys. Half-finished robots, a sentient gumball machine (named Tom), other abominations of science and nature.

_There’s definitely a universe where my mom is a mad scientist. There has to be at least one._

Meanwhile the Present —

 

 

 

Trunks opened the door to the room which had been his in the Past. 

_I wonder if one of my ghosts will ever haunt this place?_

Trunks started a little, shaking away the thought. The room was one of the family guest rooms. They were large and lavish, wall-high windows that had wall-high curtains and felt entirely too open and unprotected. 

In the Past, he had moved the furniture immediately, unable to help it—no matter how rude it might have been. He moved the bed up to the small loft, creating a dark, closed in space by moving bookcases in front of the railing, so to block the view of him from the windows. 

His young mother had stopped short when she’d come up the stairs. “Trunks…are you all right?”

He looked at the closed-in space he’d created in the loft and then back at her. “I—I didn’t ask to move the furniture. I’m sorry. I can move it back, if you want—“

“No, no, it’s fine. You move it wherever you want it, sweetie, okay? Just—are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry. I mean—yes. I’m fine. Just. Didn’t.” He gestured uselessly towards the windows. “Too out in the open,” he managed and then fiddled with his jacket hem awkwardly. 

The younger Bulma stared at him for a long time. Something sharp and wrenching crossed her face at his carefully polite, awkward responses. Unable to communicate, clearly wasn’t used to being around people. And she looked like his mother but also didn’t—so he was probably trying to separate them in his head. “It’s okay, Trunks,” she said, mirroring her other self when she gently touched his arm, giving him her warmest, mommiest smile. “Just come tell me if you need anything. No matter what it is. You haven’t been eating enough. You don’t even eat as much as Gohan—with your saiyan biology, you’d be considered starved, Trunks. You’re going to eat more, all right?”

Trunks looked caught. “I, uh…yes. I mean, if that’s—okay—”

“Of course it is! Ugh, geez, Future Son, you’re killing your mother here.” Well, she had the same sense of humor anyway. “Speaking of your mother,” she went on, pointing at him. “Full bloodwork tomorrow. I want full scans and growth charts calculated and we need to get Chi-Chi to let us borrow Gohan so we can compare the two of you. You’re the only half-saiyans that we know about. I want full work-ups.”

“But the cyborgs—“

“They’ll still be there, fucking shit up. We can stay a step ahead, since they feel like driving for whatever reason. It won’t take long. Bloodwork will be fast. Do you _know_ how long it took me to get a blood sample from Vegeta? You think it’d be easy to get blood from that jackwagon. And Goku is afraid of needles, what the fuck even, Trunks? Seriously. Needles. I don’t even—oh my god, strongest idiot in the galaxy.” She sighed before turning back around to point her pen at him. “And if you come back here when all this shit is over, I want trade-sies for full work ups on everyone there so I can compare. See how deep down this rabbit hole goes.” 

She led him to library as she talked, where she poured herself a gin and tonic. “You want one?”

Trunks paused, hesitant. “Want…uh, what?”

“Oh, right—haha, I keep forgetting. Weird. Did you want a drink?”

“Oh, no—um, I’m fine. Thank you, Mom.”

“Oh, you’re so polite, it’s so creepy. I love it.”

Trunks blinked. “Oh, I—sorry, ha—“

“I hope it’s a saiyan-thing,” Bulma had mused. “Vegeta is the most ungrateful idiot I know _but_ , he always cleans up after himself, he avoids everyone else. He’s the perfect houseguest. Except for when you’re afraid he might murder you if he woke up all pissed off. Also I think the electric bill and the food bill skyrockets—but I don’t fucking—Finance and my team of accountants handle that shit. Whenever they start whining about money, I just go invent something new for them to market or whatever. Did they ever tell you about the Microband?”

Trunks shook his head, peering at her. “What’s that?”

She launched into the story of being sixteen and _inventing_ a wristband that would _shrink_ her so she could ride in Goku’s pocket.

This was what his father loved about her. It was suddenly clear as day. He needed someone as intense as her to take him out of his head. She made the impossible fucking _possible_. She cut through Time, something that had not yet been accomplished with purely magical means. She saw what she wanted with laser focus and she divided and conquered. His father respected her mind, saw a tactician. Saw someone who created solutions while others did nothing. Fuck the laws of the universe, Bulma Briefs does what she wants. Logically. She breaks the universe with its own rules.

“Oh my shit, you’re so _cute_. You _so_ got that from my side, up top!” His younger mother held up her hand for a high-five.

Trunks choked on a snort and raised his hand up. He was really awkward, so his mother made a show of jumping up and slapping their palms together. “Count yourself lucky, Trunks. I’m gonna havta beat these past girls off with a stick.”

Trunks felt his ears start to burn, avoiding her eyes.

They twinkled at him. She was so… _bright_. He’d never thought he’d see his mother so bright. She teased and snickered. She was witty and smart and she wasn’t nearly as aggressive as he’d imagined. But just enough cocky that people couldn’t help but be drawn to her. It was that brutal honesty (towards everyone else) and the intensity in her when she threw herself into everything she did with complete sincerity and focus. 

And suddenly he was asking her, “Mom, when you met…Vegeta, uh—what did he… _do_ while he was on Earth? She would never….” He glanced away. “…. _my_ mom couldn’t really…she didn’t like to talk about him.”

Bulma had a moment where she contemplated that her Future Son was telling her that her Future Self had folded inward under the weight of so much death. She’d finally hit That Point. Where all the death was too much. And so what did she do?

She built the goddamn fucking time machine. _Fuck yeah, Future Me._ She chuckled and then realized she was chuckling and that to Trunks it wouldn’t make sense. What were they talking about again? Oh! “What—right, Vegeta. Vegeta? Yes. Okay. So that November, minding our own goddamn business after that dickhead Radditz shows up and he’s Goku’s fucking _brother_ , oh by the way, Goku’s also an alien and not actually human—but no one knew because, well, fucking Tien has _three_ eyes and he’s human. Like—the way that humans adapt is kind of a singularity in the universe. So—anyway—no one knew Goku was an alien. Anyway, Radditz dies because he’s a fucking putz. Do you know about Radditz?”

“Yeah, Mom told me about Radditz.” She hadn’t used the same words, definitely. But the sentiment was similar. 

“Okay, so here we go.” 

And then she frowned. 

“I guess I didn’t actually meet him in person until Namek.” Bulma looked down to consider it. 

Trunks smiled fondly at her. _Well, at least the lack of focus is the same._

 

 

In his Past Room, Trunks breathed in the stale air. He’d get to go back this summer. He wasn’t sure what to feel. But he was looking forward to it. It would be nice to get some advice. 

Out in the hallway, Bulma fled down the carpet. “Oooh, Trunks—come look at the spirit forge with me! I forgot to check it out!”

The spirit forge was beautiful. It was made of some glittering silver metal. Tapion ran his fingers over it with an edge of longing. “Amazing. It’s an incredible reproduction,” the spellsword said. “The attention to detail is astounding.”

“It’s even got Naya’s trade stamp on it.” Minotia pointed, indicating an intricate brand on the metal.

“Who’s Naya?” Mai asked.

“Naya was a spirit smith. She was the head of the smithing temples,” Tapion explained. 

“She was _also_ a superior badass,” Minotia informed them. 

Tapion huffed good-naturedly. “She was a friend of our mentor, she made our armor and our original weapons. And she was the best swordfighter I’d ever seen.”

“And she’s a really good cook,” Minotia added, nodding his head to convince them. “Really good hot chocolate. She used to call it ‘hot dirt’ because of the slightly gritty texture from the chocolate shavings.”

“Anyway, the dragon must have plucked this from my memory.”

“Are there other dragons on other planets?” Gohan asked.

“If there are, I don’t know it. Why did Earth need Guardians? I know that Earthlings adapt particularly well but that was eight hundred years ago. And no sign at _all_ that Earth would enter galactic zones for some time. I wonder when the Guardians first arrived.”

“Maybe they _made_ this planet,” Bulma mused. “Maybe we’re a wish. They wanted to see what would happen if you just threw a planet out there. How long would it take to develop intelligent life?” Bulma seemed compelled forward. Tapion furrowed his eyebrows curiously but Bulma ignored him. She studied the strange metal, looking over the sparkling plates, the strange molds made of solid diamond. Her eyes flickered colors.

Trunks did a double-take when it happened, not entirely certain he’d seen it at all. A reflection off of the diamond molds, perhaps? They were casting prisms everywhere in long ribbons and beams. Mai ran her fingers through it with Minotia. Gohan was standing next to him, studying Bulma intently. He _sensed_ the shift in the scientist. She was seeing something in a way she never had previously. Amazing. Videl was fixated on her as well, trying to figure out if the woman was about to have a fit or something. If she collapsed into that thing—who knows what it would do. The structure of it was more akin to panels of light and metal—like a strange walk-in X-Ray machine. The plates were large, metal in nature and they hung like clock hands in middle of a band of strange blueish light. There was a sort of counter with a depression in the middle, like a shallow sink. It held a strange, wisping mist. There were no hammers or chisels or metal ingots among the supplies Bulma had requested for the forge. There was one canister, glowing with a silvery light. 

“So…” Bulma mused out loud. “The forge… _chooses_ someone?”

Tapion blinked in surprise. “It told you?”

“Yeah. Ha.” Bulma suddenly shifted a little awkwardly. “Weird, right?” She rubbed her forehead.

“Mom?”

“I’m fine, Trunks. Just getting used to the new weirdness. Also, Mai, it wants you to be the smith.”

“You know this really couldn’t have turned out any better,” Baba said, floating up to Mai as she stepped forward uncertainly. 

“I could name a few ways,” Trunks grumbled.

“Yeah, not really a fan of you using Tapion to force all of us to fight together,” Videl said, scowling. 

“It was fun to watch,” Baba offered. “Oh yeah,” she added, stiffening up and whirling around on Jaida. “You ever hit me again, I’ll bake you inside out, girl!”

Jaida was studying the prism reflections, seeming strangely fixed on them. “What?” She asked, startling back into reality.

“You ever hit me again, girl, and I’ll scalp you with a shovel. Sixteen, don’t let me forget. If she ever hits me again, clobber her.”

“Hey!” Jaida objected. 

“Confirmed,” Sixteen confirmed, stepping into his position near Baba. She perched on his shoulder like a hawk. “The music will tell.”

“What the fuck?” Jaida snapped. “Because you were being a fucking _idiot_ and leaving all our lives to _chance?”_

“Yes,” Baba snapped. “Why do you fail and fail and _fail_ to understand?!” The old woman turned on her, pointing severely at the girl. “Hirudegarn is _dead_. Tapion and Minotia are _free_ because I _forced_ their hand. Sometimes, you can’t always be careful! Sometimes, you have to _act_. You _ever_ interfere like that again and I’ll _skin_ you sideways.” 

“Okay,” Jaida said, raising a hand. All the emotion dropped from her voice. “I’m done. I’m tired of getting treated like shit. Bulma can be your student now. I’m sure you won’t mind. I’m out.” She turned away.

“Hey!” Baba snapped and snarled when the operator simply flipped her off over her shoulder as she headed for the containment wall. 

“Jaida! You can’t just leave—“ Videl started.

“Says who, you?” Jaida shot back over her shoulder.

“Jaida!” Videl looked at Trunks, bewildered.

Trunks stared at her back as she quite literally lifted up to go over the boundary wall. “She….she can’t actually be leaving the _city_ , right? I mean—that’s—“

“Jaida!” Tapion called after her. “I will _need_ you when I must activate the spirit forge!”

He saw her pause, her aura flickered—she was caught somewhere between _I can’t do anything_ and _fuck all of you_ but also a deepset, trembling, _I just want to be alone_

She scowled, shoulders hunching tight and defensive. “That’s some bullshit and we both know it.”

“Perhaps you simply haven’t yet discovered your niche? Magic is used in many different ways. But patience is required on _all_ fronts.”

Gohan felt the cue somehow fall and he stepped forward. “He’s right. Let’s just remember where we are, guys. I understand—believe me, I do. You’re young. You two,” said Gohan, pointing at Jaida and Trunks, “have never experienced peace _ever_ and you don’t know why you’re reading so heavily into everything because you’re still thinking like you’re in a combat zone. Trunks is one more noisy drinking game away from coming out and murdering all of us for some quiet. Jaida is constantly second-guessing what is real and what isn’t real because now she’s not fucking sure. So let’s all just remember and try to fucking help each other. And let’s everyone just calm your shit.” 

“Behold, the voice of a generation,” Videl added.

The others snorted.

Gohan pointed at her, narrowing his eyes in a mock-threatening sort of way before chuckling too. 

Tapion gestured down to the forge. “Please, Jaida. Before you go.”

She scowled at him. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

Tapion drew the witch back to them, though she kept wide-berth of Baba, prickling with anger. It was suddenly hard to meet Trunks’ face when she walked passed him. He touched her mind, a soothing presence. It was all he could think to do. 

She looked back at him though when Tapion drew her closer. The spellsword took her hands in his larger ones, folding over them and closing his eyes. The man’s grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm. Trunks felt her focus shift as Tapion was probably talking to her in her head.

For some reason, the idea of that bugged him a little. He hadn’t noticed until recently how often Tapion _touched_ her, usually her hands or her face. It was likely just a cultural or magic thing or something, surely. It was just…

Gohan felt Trunks tense up and watched him curiously as Tapion gestured to his brother. Minotia started to play his ocarina. It was a haunting, whispering melody, wind in winter trees, the sound of snow falling, the spirits of those dead and gone and divided, worlds that went on forever. 

“Mai, come and stand in front of forge, facing the hanging plates.”

She slunk around behind everyone to get closer. She took off her gloves and as she leaned in the examined it. She hadn’t even touched it but the metal tingled through her, making her mouth taste like moss and stone. 

“Now, Jaida, I need you to simply hold this energy. It’s pure spirit energy. I have to play my flute to complete the spell.”

A flicker of anxiety crossed her face. “But if I mess it up—“

“Then we will do it _again_. Jaida, you have to accept that you _will_ fail sometimes. That you _must_ fail in order to learn.”

She drug her hand down her face, looking like she wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth and disappear—but she couldn’t because she _cared_ goddammit. “Fine,” she growled.

She took a deep breath and drew it to herself, the aura and metal and weight of the canister was strange and heavy and _holy shit_ there were voices and spirits and singing and calling, chatter and breathing, death rattles and baby rattles and hate and love. Bitter fighting, _passionate_ sex, terror and joy and fear and dread and _nightmares_

_—of the whips coming down, licking her back with fire, smearing her skin with their blood—_

—and nostalgia and lovely decorations, up since Christmas and coated with a layer of dust—

These were spirits. Of all varieties and faiths and lives. But they were all fighters. All of them. And they volunteered to go and aid a fighter by becoming a living blade.

Tapion touched Jaida at the waist, likely so not to disturb the flickering of her aura around her head. He gently touched Mai at the shoulder. “Now, touch the left plate, Mai. Let it know you.”

Baba hovered, frowning severely, studying the spellsword. He was interfering. The smug little shit.

But she watched the three of them light up with spirit energy. And then Tapion pulled out his ocarina. His melody joined Minotia. The two of them harmonized. The canister warmed in reply. She felt it start to give. Jaida likely didn’t have the power to contain it. Baba crossed her arms, awaiting the inevitable chaos that would follow when the spirits escaped.

But they didn’t.

_You can’t drown them out, Jade, try listening._

She found a voice, a young voice, it greeted and listened and told her about its dog before it had been killed. The human-type spirit couldn’t remember if it had been a girl or a boy. It didn’t really matter in Death. Another spoke about the fight that killed him, a fight with some bitch who wouldn’t just give up her pack. She could have walked the rest of the way to West City, shit—Conner was gonna fucking _die_ if they didn’t take everything they could—

How the planet reached out and gave with the understanding that the energy was theirs to use, but only in Earth’s defense. The spirit energy flooded through her as Tapion let go. He had been supporting the wave, now it was free for her to deal with. Her mind expanded.

She felt thousands of lives and deaths and fights and how they returned, fulfilled to be wielded by a fighter like Tapion. To be made by Mai after the Forge was active. It was strange how _eager_ it was to begin—

She hit her knees, curling up stubbornly around the canister as it built around the music, as Tapion and Minotia wound the notes together, imbuing them with pure energy. Incredible. She felt filled to the brim with power, it was seeking any outlet it could. Every muscle expanded, eye forced open and staring at the ground. The empty socket of her missing eye buzzed and burned. Her heart was frantic and her toes were tingling and everything _stretched_

_Oh_

Don’t try to contain it. Let it fill her up. _(Fill me up)_ She shook herself a little and then braced like a stone and let the canister go. It dropped, shattering. Jaida ignored it, suddenly listening. Really _listening_ to the magic imbued in the sound from the ocarinas, fluttering around them, pulling everyone in—

For the Forge, like all Tapion’s magic, it required a Musician.

She suddenly saw the years and years that this had been so on Konats. A flash of a woman with burnt-red hair and bottle-green eyes, pushing mugs of something to them. A collection of impressive spirit swords on her wall, always lovingly cared for. And the adjacent wall was her collection of combat flutes and instruments she didn't know the names of. And how the Smith Keeper activated a new Forge _(Naya)_. Naya created the instrument that the Forge responded to. 

Jaida felt the energy flood into its shape. A smooth, graceful flute. She grabbed it to make it real and suddenly knew what to do. She stood up and turned to the Forge. Tapion watched her carefully, still playing his ocarina with Minotia. 

Jaida presented it to Mai. “I think you’re supposed to have this. I think it’s a recorder, or some kind of flute?”

“That’s a duduk,” Mai said, gently taking it. “I’ve never played one.”

Jaida shrugged. “I guess the Forge thinks that’s okay. It wants you to play a song to know you by.”

“What should I play?”

“Um, I dunno. How about Wanderer’s Lullaby—do you know that one—“

“That’s so _old_ , that was old when I was a kid—the _first_ time. How do you even know that song?”

“Play that one for now,” Jaida told her. “Questions later about songs we both know.”

Trunks recognized the tune but didn’t know the words. Gohan knew a few of them. Chi-Chi and Bulma both seemed to know it. 

Mai felt the magic guide her. Weird. It tingled up her spine and told her what to do, guided with color and sound and feeling. Like Videl saw paths through the numbers, Mai saw them here. 

The Forge rumbled and warmed to her touch. Knowing her music and her breath, her voice and her heart. Knowing who she was, when she was, and where she was, a ready tool, eager for a partner. The mist in the shallow basin had changed into an opaque white light. _Be near, deathdodger. I can teach you so make weapons that sing._

Mai shook herself a little. It was so strange, hearing it inside of her. Down in her gut, she felt the vibrations. Like a core of strength, maybe? Also, _deathdodger?_ And dear freakin god, _yes, I want to make the weapons that sing_

The Forge changed, the blueish light shifting into something with more gold, more glimmering. Mai leaned up. "Whoa. Wow. That's amazing." She looked at the flute and then back at the Forge. "I can...I know how. I can't remake your sword but I can... _form_ another?" 

“It is done then,” Tapion intoned. "And yes, my sword can't be reforged. But the shards can now be returned and spirits set free."

"I could make so many things," Mai said softly, almost a whisper. "So many...."

Tapion smiled. People tended to take to their Instrument in different ways.

Jaida sunk down on the grass, Trunks knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I…I think…just tired.” She leaned back into his arm. “I’ve never….I didn’t know I could hold that much energy.”

“Sometimes, you don’t know until you’re forced to try, my friend,” Tapion said, smiling warmly at her as he put the ocarina away. “I knew you could do it.”

Jaida seemed a little embarrassed at the assessment, looking away and seeming shy again. She could feel his gentle touch in her head, searching for her real emotions. She pulled away, physically shifting into Trunks a little.

“You should rest,” Trunks told her. When she conceded, he helped her stand (she didn’t like being carried in front of the others). Her focus was totally wrecked. It took every raw scrap of energy she had to get into the air and hold herself steady as she tried to head home. Trunks went with her and, when they were out of sight, he grabbed her and took off. 

“Trunks—“

“It's okay, just rest for now. We can talk about...uh...”

“Trunks,” she muttered again, sounding a little breathless. 

He felt her hand on his shirt, warm and pressing down and dragging up to his throat. He struggled to remember where he was going as she slid up his side, putting her arm around his neck. Her knee pressed up against him—

And thank god he saw her window—which was locked because, of course it was—and so down to the front door. She pushed him up against the wall. “Get the key,” she told him, laughing huskily as she leaned in to kiss him, untucking his shirt. 

Trunks felt an unexpected thrill hit full on for every point of contact and his hands descended on her, sliding over her breast and down her side and trying to focus as she kissed his throat and was starting on his belt and shit, when she breathed in his ear—

He slid his hand into her pocket, grabbing the key—and mercifully she stopped before she somehow got him half-naked on her doorstep. She took the key, smooth as a fox and turned away from him. 

He followed her inside. When he shut the door behind him, she was already heading to the kitchen. 

“Jade? Are you okay?” He asked.

She was toeing off her shoes. Everything about her energy said she ought to be near collapse. Exhaustion. Yet, here she was, on her feet. And she was coming towards him like she had some sort of _goal_ in mind—he hadn’t really seen that before. 

“I’m good, Trunks. If you would like to stay, I’d love to have you. But if you need to get back, I understand.” She had a wan smile on her face. She pulled off her socks, watching him—disheveled and a bit jittery from the kiss at the door. “But if you don’t need to be back right away, you could take off your boots and socks.” She pulled off her jacket and dropped it on the floor. 

“I…yeah, I could…” And then he trailed off because she was walking towards him, smile full of warmth and promises. 

“I felt amazing things just now,” she told him, fingers finding his belt again. “So if you need to leave, it needs to be now.” She studied him hard, eyes clear and intent. Asking permission.

“I can stay,” he murmured, curiosity piqued, among other things.

She had his trousers open, palming his cock and watching his expression carefully. She stroked him, watching his gaze cloud before she dropped to her knees and held him in her palms when she kissed the head. 

She heard him grunt, taken by surprise.

She licked him there, swirling her tongue around the tip. She sucked behind the head, listening to the small hitches in his breathing, slide her tongue down the seam and then back up. And then she took the head into her mouth, sucking him in the dark hallway of a house nobody owned. She touched his thighs soothing and warm. And she worked him.

She worked him until he cried out. She didn’t care how long it took. That didn’t matter. Feeling him shake against the wall mattered. When he tried to warn her away, she suckled on the tip and he groaned there in the dark.

She moved up his body like a damn minx, pushing his jacket off, sliding her palms under his shirt. He pulled it off for her. He shuddered, feeling her hands slide over him.

“We should—“ Trunks started to step away from the front door. She followed, sliding up to his side, a warm hand trailing up his thigh. It made him start, made him twitch, made him look at her. His eyes narrowed, hackles rising. She smirked at him.

He grabbed her by her shirt, picking her up and pushing her against the wall. He pinned her there, fingers trailing restlessly over her.

“You like that, huh?” She asked him.

His fingers dug into her back. It hurt. It made her _moan_ , pulsing. He drug her shirt off, rough, uncaring of any tears or rips. And then clamped his hands into her hips, felt her roll against him, the frustrating canvas of her trousers muting the warmth, the heat he could _smell_ \--

Her bra came apart in his hands and her nipples were there for him, hard and ready and waiting. And sucking felt good, much better than he’d expected. How it made her bend to him. How it made her drag her fingers through his hair. Erect and hard and he felt how restlessly her hips were grinding against him—

He picked her up and leaned over, eyes blown wide at the sudden change as she found herself on her back on the couch—that was all the farther they’d made it—he grabbed into her jeans and pulled them off. 

Something through her eyes _pulsed_ and suddenly his back hit the floor. She slid down, smile warm and gentle, fitting herself over him and then sinking down.

He jerked his wrist and started when he found it pinned or tied down or something. He looked up at her. She was _beaming_ at him. And then she bit her bottom lip and spoke with her hips.

Trunks shuddered, looking at his wrists. He couldn’t see what held them—

Jaida smiled, leaning her head back, sliding down to meet his thighs. 

Trunks felt a shiver rock up his spine. “How are you doing that—ah!”

Jaida’s hands slid up her bared torso, cupping her breasts with her palms. “Witches…they…they follow strings to the spirits of everyone they _touch_ …” she broke on a moan when Trunks attempted to thrust up against her. “I can use…sound to….to take control of them.”

“To _all_ of them in…in other universes?” Trunks managed, watching her hands on her tits and feeling his blood _burn_.

“Potentially,” she breathed. “And I can use them to...create strings of energy…”

“Oh my god, that’s awesome,” Trunks grinned up at her and used the strings she pinned his wrists down with as leverage to rock up into her. Watching her eyes get wild and desperate, sliding her hands down to his chest and bracing herself on him. 

She breathed, shuddered on top of him and bowing her head. Her auburn hair slid down over her shoulder, showing off the molted red-and-white scars that still mapped her throat, her side, her breast and her hip. The scars from the Pit she’d been in were mostly on her back and thighs. They crisscrossed in thin ropes of scarring, a few connecting around to the double-set of scars across her abdomen. He’d only asked about that set—it was obvious to him where the ones on her back had come from. It was something of a relief to find out she couldn’t have children. 

Although…

Trunks didn’t often think about the future. The present had always been too bleak. But now that the future….might suddenly be a reality….

The idea of one day having his own children….

He shook that thought away and buried himself deep inside of her as she rocked against him.

They faded into the dark.

 

 

 

Launch had her blue-black hair tied up in a braid as she slipped through the South City gates. The city was still rather quiet, despite a chunk of its population suddenly coming back to life. Some folks hadn’t wanted to come back, she knew. Sometimes being in the spirit realm changed people. Though she couldn’t quite recall how she knew that.

And everyone who _did_ come back, usually changed in some way. It was difficult to really predict. 

She headed into the city center on foot. This is where the arena had been constructed when everyone and their idiot brothers had wanted Mister Satan to fight the cyborgs. They basically asked a guy to go right to his death. And to his credit, he did it. At least, that’s what members of the underground had told her. 

The largest radio rig in South City was in the old First Source bank. It had the most stable construction so a guy called Bookman had built a rig there. The guy had first encountered her when she wandered into South City’s underground subway system. He took her to the others. It became pretty clear she had an astute knowledge and grasp for weapons of all kinds and absolutely no idea who she was. Cutting her loose would make her an immediate target for Pit Gangs and she was already injured. Whatever had happened--it had been intense. No surprise, given cyborgs. So they had taken her in.

She entered the bank carefully, using the back entrance after carefully picking the lock. It was dark and quiet when she gently closed the door behind her and relocked it. She pulled out a sidearm, bracing it in her palms and prepared to fire, just in case. Launch edged into the bank, entered a long hallway. At the end, a lantern was flaring bright and there stood a young man with a gun pointed at her.

“Bullet?” The man asked.

“Yeah. Bookman?”

“That’s me!” He holstered his handgun. “How’s it going, Bullet? C’mon in. Junkyard and Rabbit are here. We were waiting up for you.”

She made her way down the hallway, walking with Bookman. He was dark-haired and grey-eyed. He was a young man, maybe in his twenties. He’d been driven off from his previous residence by raiders, as far as she knew. 

She entered the lobby with Bookman and they headed into the back offices of the bank. They’d taken over the entire space, turning offices to little rooms, storage places, even one for smoking hash. 

In the center of the office common area, there was a large stone-looking basin that held a carefully contained fire. The smoke was directed into the air ducts to be filtered outside. That way the smoke wasn’t obvious to an observing eye.

There were three people sitting around the fire.

Junkyard, an older guy covered in tattoos and piercings and missing three of his fingers (he’d been in prison when the cyborgs attacked) was setting down a kettle to heat some water. He had graying hair and sharp violet eyes. He waved his two-fingered hand. “Hey, Bullet.”

Rabbit was a small, dark-skinned young girl with fetching golden eyes. She was the one that could sneak just about anywhere. She was also good with knives. “Launch!” Rabbit beamed, jumping up to go to her. “How are you?”

“Hi Tyla, it’s been awhile.” Launch gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “You’ve grown so much.”

“You were only gone for three months, Launch,” Rabbit told her, smiling. “Oh, and we found someone else—I think he was dead.” She pointed to the third person.

This one, Launch didn’t know. He was a big man, thick and barrel-chested. He had to be in his early fourties, maybe. His hair was frizzy and wild and he had glittering blue eyes. He looked slightly concerned at her piercing gaze.

“We told him he could come with us to West City, if that’s cool with you,” Bookman said.

Launch shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me so long as we don’t have to carry him.” She looked at the big man. “What’s your name?”

“Mark,” said the man, still looking a little nervous. 

“Right-o then, hi Mark. I’m Launch. I also go by Bullet Farmer on the radio.”

The man nodded a little. “I, uh—never used a radio until recently.”

“What do you know how to do?”

“….martial arts, mostly,” the man was a little odd, he kept hesitating before he spoke. Like he was afraid he might say too much.

“Sounds like we can use you then for the trip to West City,” Launch told him, trying to sound encouraging. 

“We leave in the morning? Me’n’Rabbit already ran around to gather supplies,” Bookman said. 

“Sounds good to me,” Launch agreed, looking at Junkyard and Rabbit and Mark, who nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Why do I feel like these chapters are getting longer? I really like this story a lot. This world has so many possibilities.]
> 
> [Also, Launch being her blue-haired self is intentional.]


	28. Our Other Selves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music: Warduna : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rEeEKYbVX8&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO&index=33  
> Music for Mai's Forge: World of Warcraft, Howling Fjord: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85JLNFc4eT4&index=39&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------  
> Spirit swords can finally have a chat.  
> \------------------------------------------------------  
> “Launch! What happened to you? How long have you been switching back and forth?” Tien studied her intently.
> 
> “How the fucking long have _you_ been alive, _asshole!_ You fucking die and then you _come back_ \--when the fuck did that fucking happen?!”  
> \---------------------------------------------------------

Mai flowed into the flute and felt the flute know her back. So strange. It was so incredible! The headiest feeling she’d ever had. The music was more than sound. It touched something in other realms that opened her eyes, her mind to all colors in all things. Metal wasn’t just a slab of grey. It sang and hummed its make-up, its desire to be shaped. The Forge flexed into her mind. 

She played and played. It was like sinking into warm blankets. All her knowledge of a traditional forge now melding with this one. One note after another, feeling for the slight shifts. The minutest change in pitch seemed so stark in her ears. Incredible.

She could hear Minotia and Tapion playing behind her as she stood before the Forge. A spell would be laid down and they could release the shards of the broken sword. Then Mai would have to reach _into_ the white light and connect with the power there and withdraw a sword for Tapion. _No pressure or anything. Shit._

Their ocarinas were lighter, sharper while her duduk was languid, almost trance-like, entering the eternal Build. The Spheres. The Spheres and the golden light—

Trunks almost moved forward when that light seemed to reach for Mai—but his mother stopped him.

“She’s in _there_ now.”

“In where now?”

Bulma looked thoughtful, glancing up at Baba. “Other planet’s spirit entities or a specific culture in the spirit realms?”

Baba looked pleased from her perch on Sixteen’s shoulder. “Insightful connection and partially related, points for that. The answer is both. Tapion and Minotia are from a planet where sound is a primary practice of magic. It’s a part of their planet’s spirit energy. In the other realms, there are likely Kais who are familiar with the culture and maybe have become these figures. It depends on how much they believe in their planets’ religions. Or the flexibility of their magic. Music is extremely fluid. Mai is now experiencing the spirit energy of Konats. Directly. It wants to know her and understand her and feel what her rhythm is. Humans are well-suited for sound-oriented magics because for all their other failings, you all are extremely good mimics.”

Baba lifted her nose, scowling. “And Jaida, you broke the sword, take it to Mai.”

Jaida was silent, seeming to simply ignore her. The operator looking to Tapion and waiting for his nod before turning to Trunks. He had the shards of the sword and the hilt on a wooden slab like a platter. His fingers lingered on the familiar leather grip. 

Jaida met his eyes, apologetic, before taking the plank of wood from him and approaching the spirit Forge. Mai lifted off the duduk. 

“There,” Mai directed, something strange in her voice. She simply pointed towards the metal plates and then stepped before the window of light. “Jaida presents the spirit sword of Tapion, which she accidentally shattered in an attempt to save my life. We return the spirits to the Aether.”

Mai watched the Forge sift out, energy flowing over Jaida, over Tapion and Trunks and over the shards. Mai took the shards of crystal one at a time and Tapion and Minotia played something again. She pressed her palms into the light, as if to a sink to the spirit realm. The shards vanished. The hilt, when placed in the light, unraveled and turned to ash before vanishing.

All right, moment of truth. She’d either pull out a sword or her skin would probably get boiled off.

Mai steadied herself, almost seventy years combined experience in that, right? She reached in, breathing in Tapion and Minotia’s magic and letting it flow through her. 

The light grabbed back, hot and strong. She kept her hand firm, waiting as the energy sent a jolt up her palm, tasting her spirit.

And then energy buzzed through her bones, her fingers stretched and she _grabbed_. With her hand pulling back from the light, a shining, glass-like sword followed. It was longer than the last, the grip had changed a little.

Minotia whooped and drew his sword, rushing up to compare. “See if they’ll talk!”

“Wha—“

Air burst in a vacuum swell and then vanished, before them stood two ethereal beings. 

“Kiesel!” Minotia exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, you musta been so bored being trapped in the sword and never able to come out. I wasn’t strong enough after Tap and I were separated.”

“You’ve grown so much,” the one called Kiesel said, sounding female. “But Trunks woke me up when you let him wield me. Hello, you. Come here, boy.” She pointed a finger at Trunks and beckoned him.

“Saelac,” Tapion said, bowing his head to the other spirit. “Now can you tell me how the sword got to Trunks?”

“Your energy had gone dormant, Tapion,” said the second spirit, Saelac, who sounded male. Their features were sharp and defined. “I knew something had to be done. The Kashvar would come for you eventually and if you couldn't be prepared, then I had to be. So I slipped through the veil and left the case on my own.”

Tapion stared at him, thunderstruck. “Wha-- _how_ did you even—“

“We are the embodiment of fighting spirit, Tapion. If deemed necessary we can take leave to act on our own. I saw a vision of someone on _this_ planet whose energy was bright and strong but unfocused. A conduit to this planet's spirit field. So I set out to find it. But by the time I did—I could no longer take my human-shape or speak. I was too weak.” He looked over at Trunks, who was being prodded by Kiesel. “But he was _strong_. He sought me out whether he knew it or not. Thankfully, he’s half-human. I taught him what I could, built up what spirit energy I could—and it changed him. But it was limited because…he wasn’t you.”

“But now he dabbles in both sides of the magic divide.”

Saelac shrugged a little. “He _is_ half-human. Some races are more curious than others.”

Tapion scowled a little. And then the spirit seemed to spy Jaida, studying him from behind Tapion with some mix of curiosity and trepidation.

“Ah, young one,” Saelac said, gently and he stepped around the spellsword to take Jaida’s hand. “No hard feelings. The sword was only a form. When I felt the well of your spirit, I was afraid that to allow my power through you so suddenly would drive you mad or blind you. So to protect you, I shattered the blade by forcing the give at the edge. It was not your fault but my _choice.”_

Jaida stared at up his ghostly dark-skinned face. From this close she could see his hair was woven like dark gold and his eyes were warm with a hint of amber—

“Saelac,” Tapion groused. 

“A moment, Tapion. Patience.” He turned back to Jaida. “The truth is, you have the potential and your mind is awake with magic. I didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good specimen. Perhaps your Smith can make you a weapon too. And perhaps another to match it,” he said and looked over her shoulder.

Jaida turned to see Keisel examining Trunks again. The Spirit’s expression had changed ever-so-slightly, something more heated that roared with Trunks’ raw power. Like fighting, or sex. She hadn’t quite realized how similar the two could be.

“It’s not necessarily a given that you’ll be compatible to fight with Trunks—as a pair. Like Minotia and myself,” Tapion said, folding his arms. “But if that’s something you want to try—“

“Why would you be the judge of that?” Jaida looked at him.

“As I grew up learning to fight in pairs and you did not, I would assume I could judge that,” Tapion replied.

“Seems like fighting as a pair would require a lot more than just technical skill.” Trunks turned away from Kiesel, who was starting to grin. “It requires _trust.”_

“Is that why Gohan didn’t train you until you were thirteen?”

“Hey! What the hell!I” Jaida snapped, energy crawling over her skin and seeping into her bones and this electric feeling—

“Careful, kid,” Gohan said, pointing at Tapion. He stayed standing next to Videl but his attention was fixed on Trunks. The _immediate_ rage that boiled in him like a volcanic inferno, roasting and eating and smoldering. All that frustration bubbling up to the top. And Tapion was very similar and he was pushing Trunks’ buttons on purpose, no doubt there. But _why?_

“No disrespect to you, Master Gohan,” Tapion said. “It’s simply an observation. If you can’t trust him because he’s reckless, than it’s just too dangerous to take him against enemies so much more powerful than you. And if he continues to be reckless, then I don’t feel comfortable pairing him with Jaida—who is still discovering her spirit energy and physically weaker—”

Jaida scowled, looking harassed. "I’ve been looking after myself for ten years. I don’t _need_ your permission. If you won’t teach us, then we’ll do it ourselves.”

“You shouldn’t attempt it without proper training,” Tapion insisted.

“Says you,” Trunks challenged.

“He always got more competitive when the swords were together and complete,” Minotia said, almost fondly. “They become a part of you, that’s why it never wields as well for someone else. Kiesel guides power through the sword. Gives you that electric, elastic feeling. Tapion hasn’t felt his for nine-hundred years. I can’t even imagine.” He smiled up at Saelac. 

The spirit ruffled Minotia’s hair with a large, dark palm before turning to Tapion. He vanished. The sword glowed faintly, forming a darkened red sheath around it, engraved and carved from thick, enchanted leather. 

Everything around the spellsword seemed to stop. 

Tapion paused. _Saelac?_

He felt the sword warm in response. It jolted up through his arm, like ice into his brain, down to his fingers and toes, feeling it all inside at all times and at all moments. Other versions of himself, some matched, some didn’t. The sword could find the places where many of his other spirits might have gathered now that time had been crossed on this planet’s spiritual plane.

All _sorts_ of possibilities were open here.

Saelac's homespace, his voidspace built itself around him. It had been so long since Tapion had come here. It was usually only accessible to him during meditation--but it seems that Saelac was bending the rules. The room was warm, glossy marble, black and oily gold. The spellsword could almost hear Naya’s magic in the flawless crystal. Calming, soothing, quiet. To slip through the veils of other planes of existence. So he could ghost through the world, touch a mind at will, slip in like a specter. It was like an itch. Always too curious. Wanting to touch and really _experience_ others. Feeling the intensity of their emotions. Or some of the dreams that some of them had. 

_Understand your shame._

He’d touched Jaida’s mind intentionally. He thought she was interesting. She and Trunks had grown up knowing only this devastation. Best to get her perspective first, as she was less likely to sense his presence, feel all the _meaning_ behind her circumstances of this world. Everything she felt was so _intense_. It was incredible to find her dreaming of the things…..whether it was the heated, clumsy ones, overwhelmed by the half-saiyan or the intense terror and death of the Mort Benign pit outside of East City. The fighting pits. She’d had a different name there. That part of her mind was locked down tight but she couldn’t contain the intensity she felt. Trunks would probably feel just as intense. And the line between violence and lust is very thin. And it showed sometimes. 

It was fascinating. He felt terrible afterwards. Part of him wanted to look in Trunks' mind as well.

_Accept that you are mortal._

His body’s intense reaction was perfectly normal for a young man his age. It was what he would do about it that was important.

_Remember why it is important to stay neutral in the affairs of other planets._

Sometimes it slid into his own dreams and he’d been surprised to find the cyborg, the female, there. She was dangerous and confident, muscled and lithe and graceful and _homicidal_. There was a spirit there, one clinging to a soul that had been ravaged by a psychotic doctor. A body that had been repeatedly broken down and rebuilt. And then trapped and controlled and eventually she snapped. It made sense. He’d seen broken minds before. 

Maybe it was her eyes that stuck with him. The strange ice-blue of them. Like maybe they’d once been a richer color.

_What do you want?_

“I want to help the twins. But Trunks hates them. And Lazuli hates all of us.”

_Then you should take the one who spared them._

“Jaida and Trunks.” Tapion looked around the cool marble, staring out crystal clear windows into voidspace. “I don’t know if I can trust Trunks not to attack. He can be reckless. And Jaida is—I don’t know if I should be alone with her. I feel all her intensity when I’m near her.” And then Tapion jolted. “Oh, oh, course. Mai. I’ll ask Mai.”

_Then remember and put your distractions into your power. Don’t keep them in your mind. They eat you inside._

Wow, Tapion had forgotten how it felt when….the sword absolved him. Reminded him he was mortal. And allowed him to use his fears as a source of power. He’d been without that for so _long_.

It flooded through him and he felt Saelac _reconnect_ with him and with Kiesel and Minotia. The Earth’s spirit energy hummed through him, making his long ears twitch. 

He heard Mai begin to play her flute again, the Binding Song. He recognized it from almost a thousand years ago _(where everyone is dead)_ and resisted thinking about that.

When he opened his eyes, there was a flash of seeing all realms in all divides, like a grid flooding through the world and then vanishing. But more surprising was that Trunks was holding him up.

Tapion jolted a little and regained his feet. “Apologies.”

All the competitive prickling in those blue eyes was gone: well, of course it was. Trunks wasn’t really one to hold a grudge unless you tried to murder him (and sometimes, not even then), really. He was, Tapion could admit, a good man. It was just…

Trunks kept a hand on his shoulder, in a comrade-in-arms sort of way. “You all right? You looked like you were having some kind of…fit.”

“And then Minotia did too,” Videl put in, kneeling as she carefully lowered the boy to the ground. She patted his face. “Hey, Mino? You okay?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “It’s just…been a long time. I missed this.”

Kiesel bowed to them all with a flourish before vanishing into Minotia’s sword.

Tapion brushed his shirt down (Bulma had given it to him) of imaginary dust before looking at Mai. Her dark eyes were reflecting the blue-gold of the spirit forge. She watched the plates, feeling its energy, _listening_ to it. “Mai, could I speak to you privately for a moment?”

 

 

 

Jaida sat down at her kitchen table. It was lucky, she supposed, that the old owners of the house didn’t appear to want to be alive again. So no one had contested her for the house yet.

But in the meantime, she would still maintain the house. The table fan had been broken for a month and she had been too immersed in Baba’s magic to pay attention to it. She picked up a screwdriver and cracked opened the casing, removed the fan blades, took off the cover and revealed the capacitor and wire wrapping. It was hidden with electrical tape which she peeled off carefully. That stuff was useful as hell. Underneath, was a thin layer of cardboard insulator, to reduce the risk of getting zapped. She peeled it off. There was the roll with its thick armor of hair-thin wire. It was coated in a copper-colored substance that she didn’t know the name of. All she knew was that it took soldering wires back together out of the question. One wisp of copper-colored wire was neatly snapped. One thread among thousands and the fan no longer got power. 

One among thousands.

It felt like that should be significant, but all Jaida could do was scowl and stand up over the disemboweled table fan. “Cheap piece of shit,” she scoffed disdainfully at it and pulled her fingers through her hair to gather it up for a braid. 

Still, it felt good to do something with her hands again. She missed the quiet, simpler problem solving. No alternate table fans to worry about killing. Just a snapped wire. Nothing to be done except strip it for parts. 

Hopefully, Bulma would do better with magic than Jaida had. She smiled at the thought.

Wow, she hadn’t realized how miserable she was until she was away from Baba. 

“This is DeadJam, we’re hitting Bulma’s Playlist—by frequent request. She’s not dead—just got people asking me to make some for the folks who changed the world! Bulma’s playlist has some long tracks, so settle in for that. We got the Dandy Warhols up first. Pop in on channel 105 to make a request.”

Jaida leaned back in her chair and looked at her own energy strings, rising up in ghostly ladders. The harder she focused, the more solid they became, the more control she had. She’d practiced a little…strenuously with Trunks, and for a day or two, couldn’t see the strings at all. The bruises lingered and Jaida covered them up with her standard layers of clothing. No one need ask, she didn’t need tell. As far as she was concerned, whatever marks Trunks might leave were between him and her. She’d been without a mother for quite some time and she certainly didn’t need one now. She found the constant chatter and people and their aggressive curiosity to be _infuriating_. She was starting to hate visiting. Fortunately, Trunks seemed perfectly fine escaping to the quiet of her little house. Sometimes, they spent hours here, not talking. Maybe just reading or listening to Bandit read another of the wizard-boy books. But it was the fifth one, Bandit told them before he began to read. It was fun, trying to fill in the blanks themselves since neither had read the books but each had heard different parts of it from Bandit. 

Which eventually led to her using her own energy strings—almost like balloon strings—to slide warm energy up his spine. It made his hard expression flutter, his body trying to resist but breaking down. _Relax, relax…_ And watched him slowly ease back onto her couch. His guard was slower, like a rusted sieve gate. Jaida touched his face—felt the longing for stability, quiet, rest—and ran her fingers through his hair, tugging him in to rest on her shoulder. 

It was still a long time before he could relax completely. She wasn’t sure how long they were sitting on the couch in front of the stained glass window but she felt the slightest shift and turned into him. It was wordless, trust—she would suppose, later. But now could only think about keeping him safe, giving him what he wanted (quiet, calm).

She pulled him to her breast and laid back. There was no sexual vibe that Trunks could detect and for a moment he was lost, not sure what to do. But then her hands returned and she guided him down. Her touches stayed gentle, careful, soothing. 

Wow, using what Baba had taught her to help _him_ though….it, well…..magic couldn’t be _all_ bad, right? It was all in how it was used. Everything has a double-edge. Was it wrong to use her attunement to him to…try to help him? She wasn’t manipulating anything else (right?). She didn’t think so. Did it matter? She wasn’t sure when they were like this. His eyes were always so dark and pinched in worry—but when he calmed, some of that heaviness went away. It made him look younger. His spirit settled, relaxing in to her familiarity. 

It was….well, rather intimate. In a non-sexual way. Which was apparently a thing. Add another journal page for New Things I Learned by Interacting with Other Sentient Folks. His trust was heavy. 

She embraced it. 

She hadn’t been able to see energy strings for two days but now they were back (and it was totally worth it). She looked down at the dismembered radio. Then back up at her energy strings. They looked like wires. Like the copper wire, but not snapped. You know you could behead someone with wire. 

She gazed up at the strings. No, the _wires_.

And the strings stiffened in response, razor sharp, singing.

“This is the Bullet-Farmer, I see you’ve got a bird out here by the road, West City. Anyone monitoring the entrance?”

Jaida jumped, scaring herself out of her daze and ran to her radio rig, selecting the second handset (moving a shaker of salt). “This is Channel 329 on the darkwire. Please identify.”

She listened to the crackle of static. She didn’t know Bullet-Farmer. But the woman answered back:

“We’ve got me, Junkyard, Bookman, Rabbit and Mark. We’re from South City area, scoping out sites for Doctor Gero’s laboratory. We heard that Boss Lady Mai advised to gather in West City.”

“Oh, gotcha. I’m your point-of-contact, Jaida. You can head on into the city, take a left on Gidson Street, someone painted a sign on a car door—follow it until you see an old brick school—that’s where Mai has set up all the underground people.”

“Thanks—hey so, Briefs family lives here, right?” Bullet-Farmer buzzed back.

Jaida nodded a little to herself. It was a common question. “Yep, the ones who reprogrammed the cyborgs.”

“That sounds like something she’d do,” Bullet-Farmer chuckled.

 _“What?”_ Another voice on Farmer’s side asked.

“Thanks, gatekeeper. Stay safe.”

 

 

 

Launch packed her solar unit in her pack. “Okay, cool—so not gonna get sniped. Let’s go.”

They mounted light motorcycles, one for each of them except Rabbit. But she was fine standing on the back of Mark’s bike like a goddamn lookout. Totally fearless, that kid. 

The gatekeeper, a ragged-looking redhead half-covered in burn scars, waved to them with a smile from her lookout above the West Gate.

Rabbit, climbing on Mark’s broad shoulders, whooped and raised her weapon in salute. The gatekeeper fired off an airhorn a couple times in answer. 

“Oh. I hope everyone is nice,” Launch muttered a bit, fussing with her kerchief. 

“Good luck of that,” Bookman sighed when they pulled in to the parking lot of an old brick child-prison. 

“It’s hard pretending to be tough all the time.” Launch sighed too. 

Bookman watched her eyes lower, feeling guilty and bad about herself for some reason that Bookman couldn’t see. Something in her got weird like this sometimes. Maybe it was all the time lost? Maybe her memories were coming back for some reason? Something had triggered it? It couldn’t be an accident. He’d never seen Launch quite so on edge but in the _other_ way, the softer way. The way that made him really want to protect her but also knew he had to respect her desire to fight for herself. Something about her was odd, yeah—but this was even stranger than usual. And she kept asking about the Briefs. Like she was desperately trying to remember something but she didn’t know what it was.

“Launch…?” 

Bookman whirled around, to a stunned-looking man with three eyes. 

Another short one said, “Holy shit! Launch!”

“Whoa, it totally is! Launch! Wow, it’s been awhile. Where have you been?”

Launch locked up, staring at the men, trying to remember them—something _winced_ across her features and she looked at the three-eyed one.

“I…” Launch tangled her fingers in the end of her braid. “I…know you? You died. I remember.” 

“Launch?” Rabbit said quietly, palming her knife and then headed for the strap that held her crossbow to her bony hip. “What’s wrong? Did these guys do something to you?”

Bookman watched Launch’s eyes get wide and unfocused and then she shuddered and dropped like a sack of potatoes—

The three-eyed man was faster than him, catching Launch and holding her to him. “Launch! Launch? Are you okay?” He knelt down, gently putting her on the grass. “Krillin—call Bulma.”

Junkyard was off his motorcycle, shotgun braced into his shoulder and pointing it at them. "Back off, tri-clops. How do you know Launch?" Rabbit circled with them her crossbow.

"Whoa! Whoa!" the short, bald one said, throwing his hands up. "No need for that! Launch was a friend of ours!"

“Who the hell are you guys?” Bookman demanded, stepping closer to Launch’s prone form.

“I’m Tienshinhan, who are you? Resistance, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, duh! We all came here from South City!”

“And she’s traveled with you and never mentioned us?” Yamcha scoffed.

“She came to us with no memories, boy,” Junkyard said tersely, edging to around to keep the three strange men in range.

“What happened?” Tien demanded.

“Well, we don’t know, cause, see, she doesn’t remember,” Bookman said, sounding more agitated with each word. 

“I’ll fuckin cut you both if you don’t stop talking about me like I’m not fucking here!” Bookman and Tien both jumped when Launch—wait….no. Some blond lady? Wait. Where the fuck was Launch? What—

"What the fuck--" Junkyard stuttered, staring as a totally different woman stood up from the grass.

"Where is she!?" Rabbit demanded.

“Launch! What happened to you? How long have you been switching back and forth?” Tien studied her intently.

“How the fucking long have _you_ been alive, _asshole!_ You fucking die and then you _come back_ \--when the fuck did that fucking happen?!”

Bookman was goggling at her. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

“Dial back, Bookshaft. These are mommy’s old friends. I guess they’re fucking alive now.”

“We’ve only been back for like a—“

“—week.”

“—two weeks.”

“—about a month?”

Launch scowled at them. “Wow, you dipshits haven’t fucking changed at all, have you? Where the _fuck_ is Bulma? That bitch owes me at _least_ bed and breakfast.”

“Who the fuck _are_ you?” Bookman demanded.

“Look, hotstuff. I’m Launch. I’m the other-Launch. We just recently became aware of each other. So hey, plus side—sometimes I _don’t_ switch when I sneeze because fuck a duck if I ain’t got bad luck.”

“What happened to you?” Tien insisted again. 

“Oh Jesus fucking shit, this dumb bitch,” she pointed to her chest, as if to indicate the other Launch, “thought she could find out how to revive dead dragonballs. So she goes on a mystic fucking spirit journey and by the time I get control again, we’re fucking getting more alike because holy shit…she changed. She changed a lot after….” Launch suddenly seemed to calm down and took a deep breath. “You died like an asshole. Again.”

Tien shrugged, managing a waning smile. “Sorry.”

Launch scoffed but she smiled and it touched her fiery eyes. “You owe me, Third Eye Blind. Got a lot of things to heckle you about before Clueless get control again.”

“Wait—so how do you switch now, though?”

“I think Clueless remembered something. Because you know, you were just suddenly fucking _here_ , you know. Like goddamn Batman or something.”

“You know, we got wished back but it was from Namek’s dragonballs. When Bulma went there—“

“Oh, fucking Namek. Great. Awesome. Hopefully, she didn’t run into any of Freeza’s fucking dipass relatives.”

“What were you doing with the resistance? How did you end up with them?” Tien asked her.

“She’s had control for almost three years. Before that I was running guns for almost ten of those years. But right at the end—fire fight. Cyborgs attacked, I think. They slaughtered everyone that I ran with, of course. I was one of the few who knew what the energy beams would do to flesh. I fucking ran to hide and take cover. Ceiling came down, knocked me out. Blue had control after that. She got out, somehow and left the area—wherever the fuck we were, I don’t remember anymore, just another raiding camp—I’d gotten us pretty fucked up. Luckily she found this cool dweeb.” Launch gestured at the young man. “He goes by Bookman. Book, these are my friends. If Blue gets control back, make sure you tell her to remember where her bobby-pin lock kit is. It should be in my room at Capsule Corp.”

“Your _what_ at Capsule Corp?!” Bookman staggered.

“My room, clean your ears. I assume you’re not hanging out with me, a kid, a walking fire hazard and a hobo just to fill the pretty quota. Speaking of, weren’t you calling Bulma like a million hours ago? Where is she?”

“She’s about to land!” Krillin said defensively.

“In her plane? What—four blocks from the—“

Bulma wisked down to them, nearly skipping onto the gravel of the parking lot. “Launch!”

“Since when can _you_ fly?”

“Since Shenron told me all the gods knew about me and wanted to give me a gift.”

Launch rolled her eyes. “Like you don’t have everything else? Fuck a duck, Bulma.”

Bulma laughed. “Wow, it really _is_ you! Come on! Are you hurt at all? I mean—is she hurt? You know that you’re separate now. But she doesn’t?”

“Clueless, Blue’s about as dense as a fucking rock.”

“She’s nicer than you,” Yamcha reminded her.

“And apparently Vegeta’s a better fuck than you. Who’s surprised? Oh right, nobody.”

"Oh wow," said Yamcha, eyes hooded as he crossed his arms. "No one has _ever_ taunted me with _that_ before."

“Bulma! Everything all right!” Videl swooped down, landing next to her.

Bookman started badly. “Videl?!”

Videl jerked, took him in. “Oh shi—Jack! You’re alive! I thought the raiders had killed you! When I came back the lookout was ransacked--”

“I am having the _weirdest_ day, Pesto.”

Videl laughed, glancing to the other strangers with him. “When did you lose your eye, dumbass? You are in for a shitton more weirdness—“

_(Someone stop them! Help! Help! Daddy!)_

The big barrel-chested man was standing behind the others, watching. He stared back at her, looking more uncertain. Of course, she'd only been a child then. He wouldn't recognize her even if it _was_ him.

“What’s your name?” Videl asked, suddenly stern, stepping around Jack.

“Mark.”

“Videl? What’s wrong?” Jack asked warily, touching a sidearm and stepping back from Mark.

Rabbit circled to her right as she advanced. Videl stared harder at the man. “Mark what? What’s your last name?”

“Satan.”

She just stared at him. Her father. He’d come back. He really had. And he’d found her here. She’d been distraught over his death but afterwards, when she discovered what a jerk he was…it had hardened her over towards him for years. People taunted her when they found out her name. 

_What the fuck am I supposed to do with him?_

And then immediate shame and guilt at thinking such a thing about her own father.

“Do I know you?” The man finally asked. “Are you _my_ Videl?”

“Yes. I’m Videl. I didn’t…know that you’d come back, Dad.”

He wrapped one large hand around hers, climbing up from his motorcycle as he examined her. “My little girl…all grown up…” his big blue eyes welled up in earnest tears. 

She felt numb when he scooped her up for a hug. He sobbed on her shoulder and helplessly, she allowed it. 

“Let’s, uh, get everyone to the compound, okay?” Bulma suggested. 

“Well, I guess if I can’t ride you,” Launch smirked at Bulma and mounted her motorcycle. “Same entrance right?”

“Front only,” Bulma said, raising her eyebrows.

"I bet that's a lie." Launch cackled and took off.

“You too, Mister Satan, on your bike and follow Launch to the compound. You can have a nice tea and a cry there, okay? We’ll get you a kerchief.”

“Oh thank you,” he blubbered, letting go of Videl and allowing Yamcha to herd him away.

Bulma crossed her arms, looking sidelong at Videl. She was frowning a little. “Hey, you okay?”

Videl glanced at up Bulma and then back down. “I’m…not sure.”


	29. Dead Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan/Videl 
> 
>  Videl remembers how she violently took out some raiders.
> 
> Ghost in the Shell ambient by Clint Mansell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=646l6Q3vyeY&list=PLQuOKHNudkme1sVll54ZiyEMGlFCp0bmO&index=31
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Videl looted every corpse for ammunition. She took knives, guns, drugs, money—anything useful. The silence was loud, the power had been shut down. Not even the radio was buzzing when she entered her little house, shoved the rickety, chipped kitchen table against the wall and dumped her finds on it.

Junkyard sat out on the wide steps of the deck built up around the back grounds of Capsule Corp. Rabbit was sitting next to him, watching him neatly fold up some hash in thin papers and seal it. “Rabbit,” the grizzled old con-man said, “Can you answer an old man a question?”

Rabbit glanced up at him, skin lustered by the moon. “Sure.”

Junkyard twisted the ends and then offered it to the thirteen-year-old. “Launch. When she collapsed.”

“Uh-huh,” Rabbit agreed, pulling out a lighter to kindle the roll. Her hand shook a little. 

“She _physically_ changed into another person.”

“Yep,” Rabbit choked out carefully, breathing in again sharply and holding her breath as she offered it back to Junkyard.

The old man nodded down at the hash. “Okay. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me. Just in case.”

He lit it up. 

 

 

 

“Mai,” Tapion said, sitting outside with her. “You are…somewhat friendly to the cyborgs? Moreso than the others. Is that correct?”

Mai hesitated and shrugged uncertainly. “It seems that…Lapis—Seventeen—the dark-haired one. He seems to think I’m….interesting.”

Tapion gave her an indulgent smile. “It’s all right. Friendlier than the others, we shall say. If the cyborgs can change—which I would presume you think they can—they won’t make it that long if we can’t get them to interact with some of the more…aggressive people here on some sort of civil level.”

“I mean…they haven’t killed each other yet,” Mai pointed out.

Tapion smiled at her. “Do you think that I could come with you to meet with them?”

Mai blinked, staring at him. “I…all right. Um—I wouldn’t expect a warm welcome. Lazuli barely tolerates _me_. Let alone you.”

“That’s all right. I will leave Lapis to you and I will attempt to speak to the sister, Lazuli.”

Mai peered at him, studying him for a moment. “Why do you want to talk to her?”

“Because what they represent is a festering madness in some of the others.” Tapion looked down at his palms. “I can feel it so much clearer now. It’s a sickness. A thorn in their minds. If it can’t be torn out, then perhaps looking at it another way will help.”

Something in Mai’s gaze softened a little, her dark indigo eyes examining his profile and the severity in his expression. “All right. I told Lapis I would meet him to test some equipment. He wanted to see it up close after the battle with Hirudegarn. Eighteen will not be with us, likely—but she won’t be far away. Because they can’t sense each other. They’re afraid they won’t be able to find each other again.”

“Did he tell you that?”

Mai shook her head. “No. But…I just…” she shrugged. “That’s the vibe I get.”

Tapion nodded, looking thoughtful. “Do they _know_ Sixteen?”

“They know _of_ him, I think,” Mai said. “But otherwise—I didn’t tell them about Trunks meeting Sixteen in the Past. I mean, you know—how do you bring that up in casual conversation?”

“Perhaps another time then, I don’t want to appear like a show of force. I just want to speak with her. To try something more productive for everyone.”

“All right, but still. No attacking unless she attacks first. And not a _word_ to Trunks. I don’t think he’d be comfortable with you meeting them.”

“He doesn’t trust me?” Tapion smiled a little, seeming nearly amused.

“No. And you’re powerful. Anyone with power can’t be trusted until you meet them yourself.”

“It’s been nearly two months.” Tapion studied her.

Mai snorted and he thought he saw a glimmer of the woman she might have been before that fateful date in May. “Do _you_ trust _him?”_

“Fair point. I don’t.”

“Well, I don’t trust either of you. But you’re less reckless when it comes to the cyborgs. But any fucking shenanigans out of you, Tapion, and I’ll break your sword.”

The spellsword did a slight double-take at her. 

“Oh yeah, the Forge let me know what to do if I needed to destroy your blades. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Trunks—but I know him better than you. You keep pushing his buttons and he’s gonna snap. And wow, are you not gonna like it.” She raised a hand before he could respond. “I just want to be clear. I consider you an ally, maybe even friend, but you turn on any of us and I’ll shatter your sword and leave the others to gut you.”

“I can kill you without my sword,” Tapion assured.

Mai smiled back. “I’ve had a lot of people say that kind of thing to me.”

The spellsword peered at her. “Are you that worried that I’m going to either attack the cyborgs or attack Trunks?”

Mai paused. “I just—look—he’s my friend. And you two are having this weird…dominance thing going on or whatever and you touched Jaida’s mind—“

 _I want to touch **his** mind too._ An uneasy wince went through Tapion.

“—and Jaida touched Trunks’ mind and they kind of have a thing going on because they were the first opposite gender, same age person that they’d run into. And she was recovering and he saved her life and so on blah-blah-blah fucking _duh_ , he’s Trunks. He’s very handsome—and doesn’t seem to know it. Also really polite and would absolutely take a bullet for you. Metaphorically, of course. He could just grab it, really. And Jaida has got something wrong in her head and she really liked the magic but hated the constraints. Hated feeling _connected_ to everyone and yet, Baba had her touch Trunks’ mind, knowing she would likely get attached to him, knowing it would force a permanent link to him. And didn’t _tell_ her until afterwards! It’s weird. But of all these idiots around here, Trunks is the one that I know is _honest_. He turns on any of you, so do I.”

“Point taken. Why are the cyborgs different for you, then?”

“If someone is your enemy, then your friend—you can trust them to betray you. But you could also trust them to save your life. If someone is your friend, _then_ your enemy: kill them. It’s easier in the long run.”

“Logical. But they were neither your friends, nor your enemies.”

“Yeah, well—they were…Mai’s enemies. The younger—before I started remembering—before I was made young,” Mai stumbled a little over the wording, looking frustrated. “I mean. They were our enemies. Now we suggest friendship. I was Trunks’ friend—am Trunks’ friend. But now they know that I was Goku’s enemy. But I’m not. I’m not _that_ Mai. And if I can believe it—maybe they can too.”

Tapion’s smile turned warmer, more genuine. He said, “You have had a harder life this time but…you’re more at peace now. There’s a warmth to you now. I hope it doesn’t go out.”

Mai blinked at him as he bowed slightly to her and walked away. 

 

 

 

Videl had come back to Pesto on a hot, sweltering summer afternoon almost four years ago. She saw the smoke before she arrived. Hoping that there had just perhaps been a small fire, she gunned the gas. That happened sometimes. But the closer she got, the more certain she became. She could already smell the blood and shit. The sulfur from gunfire, buzzing flies.

She rolled down the main strip, pulling her dusty goggles up into her short, black hair. 

It was mined with the dead. Pesto was small to begin with, just a few dozen souls. Videl helped protect them and gathered supplies and, in return, she lived in a little house and got to hear something other than deafening silence. Earthlings were a social species, after all. Too much time alone and they can go mad. 

But Earthlings were also an aggressive species. Everyone was dead. Everyone. 

Some of them were from whoever had rolled through. Raiders, it looked to be. Videl knelt down to one, kicking him over and searching his vest. There was a gunshot to his stomach. Above it was a small, handmade patch identifying him as a part of the Dionysus Rollers, some dipshit raider gang to the southeast. Their little club was built into an old winery. They made a hefty sum raising the grapes and harvesting them but they needed supplies sometimes. Or people. 

Videl stood next to her motorcycle, just surveying the massacre. There had been a stout fight, at least. But everyone was dead. 

The sweltering heat seemed to push down on everything around her. The stench was overwhelming. Lightening branched from cloud to cloud to the west. The winery was about twenty miles from Pesto.

Videl felt a chill roll up her spine. 

She looted every corpse for ammunition. She took knives, guns, drugs, money—anything useful. The silence was loud, the power had been shut down. Not even the radio was buzzing when she entered her little house, shoved the rickety, chipped kitchen table against the wall and dumped her finds on it.

Thunder rumbled as she geared up, fully loading guns and strapping them to herself. She donned a bullet-vest and some riding gloves. One of the riders had been carrying a tin of Rush Dust, a drug which heightened adrenaline. She put a pinch beneath her tongue and felt it dissolve. 

She breathed in the bloodsmell. Letting it fill her nose and her brain, honing in on the winery. She’d been there a time or two, running guns for supplies, but the visits were brief and guarded. It was a full house of thugs and raiders of varying degrees of intelligence and actual fighting ability. Most relied entirely on guns. Getting close to ranged targets had become her specialty over the years. She was fast, efficient and brutal. It had made her an exceptional smuggler and gun runner. 

Videl took a deep breath, listened to it in the silence of the blood-choked town. 

She watched herself turn away and shove her door open. The young woman pulled her goggles down over her eyes as she mounted her motorcycle, freshly gassed up. The saddlebag had some rope, ammunition and two machetes. 

The twenty miles buzzed by in a blur. She could smell the remains of the road roasting in the heat. The ruins stretched for fifteen miles until a small river cut through it like a knife. The smuggler stashed her motorcycle a mile out. The area surrounding the vineyard was still thick with trees. The sound was muffled in the woods and Videl crept over the hill, scanning for any scouts or patrolling raiders. This was a well-placed vineyard and easy to defend. A chill still went up her spine again as the breeze shifted through the trees, carrying cooler air with it and the dusty smell of forthcoming rain.

But there was no one—so maybe the raiders were lazy. Cocky. Her favorite kind.

She touched the grip of one of the machetes strapped to her hip, skimming the leather as she slipped forward into the dark of the trees. The Rush Dust was good for this sort of thing—she felt like she could sense more around her when she had it. There was a fence along the property that she scaled with no problems, silently dropping into the vineyard grounds like a ninja. A thick vine backed right into the fencing and Videl slipped down to hide among them. Her sharp blue eyes took in the empty grounds. It was dark now, if there was any work to be done—it was likely over. She smelled blood on the breeze. The fighter glanced up at the stars, finding Sirius in the sky and orienting herself to follow the fencing to the east. A sort of barracks had been set up. They were warm and loud, celebrating a successful raid and drinking. Videl watched their shadows. All she could smell was the blood that remained on clothing and weapons. The more important folks—the leaders—were likely inside the facility itself. Best to divide them up now. 

She stole through the shadows like a specter before she slipped into the supply room. It was separated from the rest of the barracks by stalls that had once housed horses but now housed iron hogs instead. A single guard roamed around the dark grounds that separated the barracks from the manor. It was simple to wait in the shadows for him to pass and then silently _go:_

Flitting over the grounds like a thief, grabbing the guard and cutting his throat. She muffled his gurgles into her gear, looking him over to see if she knew his face. 

She didn’t. She just pulled him into the dirt of the old horse-stall. His blood mixed with oil and muck. She looted him for money, weapons and his keys and then searched the horse barn and adjoining storage room. There were lots of things here.

Lots of flammable things. 

Videl used the guard’s clothes and paced the grounds once, simply surveying a complete loop around a well-worn footpath and then got to work. Her knife came out-- _snip, snip_ \--and then she was looping wires together, opening up gas tanks and soaking work rags in oil. It was easy to build some happy ropes from hog to hog. And to link them all together with three spare batteries from the supply closet.

She set up a makeshift timer via gunpowder trail—because, Videl learned very quickly in the November of 767 that gunpowder did not burn nearly as fast as movies made it seem. She would have about a minute once it lit. That was plenty of time, all she’d have to do is wait, after all. But one didn’t spit on gunpowder before it’s lit, right? Was that a turn of phrase? It should be. Anyway, better safe than dead. 

Videl dowsed the walls of the barn and supply room with gas and oil, washed her hands at the dock sink and then shrugged the guard’s jacket back on. 

The same handmade patch that was on the breast of the dead raider was here on the guard’s sleeve. 

_Dead apples, Videl. Look at all the dead apples. Everywhere. No, dead grapes, rather, I suppose. Haha. Dead apples sounds better, I think._

She lit the powder trail and spirited through the dark, eyes scanning, unsheathing the machetes and found a corner to watch from. The powder sparked in the silent grounds—muffled by the raiders eating, fighting and probably fucking, knowing them. Raiders and smugglers usually didn’t have these kinds of problems. It’s not like everyone didn’t already know she was a smuggler. She had a reputation for fighting. Apparently, they had forgotten. 

Her blue eyes narrowed in the dark as the fire started. It was slow to catch but that was fine. The more time they didn’t notice, the more the fire would take hold, licking up the walls greedily. Dogs started to bark from the opposite side of the manor, smelling smoke.

Some of the revelry inside the barracks quieted and then a hush fell and then a scrambling to the windows. Three of them ducked outside with no gear, only guns. They saw the fire and scrambled. It engulfed the barn and supply room as they frantically went for their stores of water—

And then she moved, ghosting next to them one at a time. A cut throat, a short thrust into the spine, grabbing a knot of thick brown hair and shearing the flesh aside, blood spurting up into the firelight. Videl felt everything inside of her slow down, going hot and smoldering like a coal. She dropped the corpse. Two dozen men and women slowed down, suddenly seeing her, seeing their dead companions. 

“Come on,” said the woman, standing before their burning building. “Come on. You killed some helpless civilians today while I was gone. Let’s see what you got.”

Two dozen guns came out.

Videl only smelled blood, then sulfur. There were screams, shattering bones, glass and burning embers. Videl was a wraith, a demon, as she slammed into one of the women, shredding her stomach to pieces. Videl felt like a monster, like a beast, something animalistic _(they killed pack)_ and then she was turning them into paste. Butchering them like animals. Limbs and throats, ducking friendly fire (for them) when they panicked, gutting one, slamming another onto her machete. His lungs burst, spraying her with a net of blood. 

Videl pulled her goggles up. “Come on. Come ON! Where the fuck are all your guts? Where the fuck are all your guts _now!”_

She heard the bullet and whipped aside, the wood bursting apart. Up she went, over the stall wall and then around the burning building. Her gun came out and she strode out into the flickering light. “Come on, you little _fucks!_ It took over twenty of you to kill a village of barely that many, half of who were kids! It’s just me! I’m just one person! I’m not a fucking defenseless fucking _kid_ though!”

Shots rained out from her right, and she went into a sprint. Dodging bullets and a knife and then finding someone. Her machetes slammed up and into a gut and then threw the corpse down. _(Oh hey, I found their guts.)_

And then she turned on the others. By the time she stopped, or ran out of people—she was soaked, absolutely coated, in blood. It was sticky and metallic. Her mouth tasted like pennies. She felt the grit and grime of fluids and bits of flesh inbetween her palm and the grip of her machete. Someone’s tooth was lodged in her boot. She breathed in the cold air.

_Really, they wouldn’t be grapes anyway. Dead grapes are just raisins. Hmm._

Thunder rumbled again, hungry for more. Sonic forces and fields at work that made the air feel heavy around her. Gravity, she might one day reflect.

Videl headed for the manor. The first floor had been renovated into a tasting bar. She sheathed her machetes and took out her guns. It had likely been pretty high-class before the cyborgs. Now it just smelled like cigarettes and sulfur. It was very quiet inside the manor, the muffled sounds of burning wood were just a murmur. She swiftly took a staircase up and searched the manor. Those she ran into were the normal guards she expected. She was still breathing hard but it was effortless to cut them in two. She’d lost count of the bodies, the people. They lay in a blood-soaked trail behind her by the time she found their leader in the lower cellars. Most of the barrels had been removed. Cells were built in their place. 

In one iron-barred cell, someone perked, straightening a little. He watched her like a hunter. And then he looked at something in the opposite corner of the cells and then pointedly looked back at her.

Videl might have been in a haze of blood and rage—but she could take a hint. She slipped around the corner and saw their leader hiding in the back corner. He fired at her once, twice and then a spray of gunshots lanced through the air. The man in the cell jumped back into a corner, making himself as small as possible. Videl almost….felt like she saw _through_ them, just for a moment. And she was in the man’s face, shoving her gun in his mouth and firing once. 

Fresh blood warmed over her clothes and face and hands again. The smell had her faintly dizzy for a moment before she stood and searched the man automatically. There was a ring of keys, she took it to the cell and passed it through the bars. 

Videl slid down against the wall across from the standing cell while the man tried each key. She was trembling still, trying to ease her breathing. “Just so we’re clear. If you fuck with me after you get that door open, I’ll kill you.”

“Hey, no worries there. I like learning from other people’s mistakes.” The man beamed at her. “My name’s Jack,” he said. “What are you doing here? Is this a rescue?”

“A rescue?” Videl shrugged against the cold concrete wall. “I guess so. Sure. Consider yourself rescued, Red.”

“Who are you?” He asked. “I’ve never seen you with the resistance or the operators.”

Videl chuckled against the wall, tipping her matted hair back. She felt the blood stick like molasses to the stone. “How often do you operators actually meet in person?”

He hesitated because there was an answer for that but if she wasn’t with either group than who was she? “Good point,” he said instead. “You an independent then? Smuggler? Gun-runner?”

“On point, man,” she said, smiling a little crookedly at him as he finally got the correct key. She braced herself to stand up, leaning against the wall as the adrenaline started to wear down. “I suppose it’s obvious.” Videl chuckled a little to herself and indicated the carnage with a wave of her hand. “Not always a people-person. But. Most of the time, I’m very friendly.” 

He laughed, the note of hysteria in it mirrored her own. 

They helped each other outside to the grounds. The fires had consumed the barn, stables and barracks, a blazing, crackling inferno. 

“Holy shit, Smuggler. You fuckin Han Solo’d these guys.”

Videl chuckled with that edge of hysteria again, shaking as she and the young man staggered down the steps of the burning building. 

They lumbered out into the night and she led him to her motorcycle. 

“C’mon,” she told him, lips cracked and bloody from fighting and the fires. “Get on—we can go hide out in the Hearthwheel for a couple days, in case any of them they hit Pesto again.”

He hesitated and then mounted on behind her. She was warm. He tried not to notice. He’d been locked up for a long time. She should have been dead, definitely. She felt so slender and small. Also, she was sticky with blood and…other things. How the fuck had she killed so fucking many? She seemed to ignore it all, starting the bike and blazing out to the wasteland as moon passed. 

The Hearthwheel was a curious turn of rock that had become something of a popular meeting place—but only in certain circles. Her circles. By the time they arrived, he was holding her tight to him and she was trying not to feel it. Or every hitch of pain that racked her. She stopped the bike and felt his hands pull away reluctantly. She shuddered a little. 

They helped each other into a small tavern and she leaned on the counter heavily.

“Videl? Holy shit, hon, are you all right?” The barkeep flew around the counter to help stabilize her. “Run into trouble?”

“Little bit,” Videl answered, pulling out a few bills formally the resident of a raider’s pocket. “Need a room for a few days, big enough for me and him. What’s your name again?”

“Jack,” said Jack, looking at the barkeep and meeting her eyes. “What else do you need, ma’am?”

“You independent?”

“I’m with the operators.”

“What’s your handle?”

“Bookman.”

“Ah,” said the woman, writing it down. “Got it.” She led them to a room with two large beds and plenty of space.

 

 

Videl smiled a little. “And we helped each other not die for the next few days. I had no idea how the room got paid for. From the time I left the manor to getting to the room—I don’t remember very much. I was in so much pain—I think and….after finding everyone dead like that in Pesto…” She shrugged, glancing at her mug of tea a bit self-consciously.

“I didn’t believe her initially,” Jack said, leaning back and shifting his vodka. “When she said it was just her that killed all of them.”

“There weren’t that many,” Videl dismissed quickly, rolling her eyes at Gohan. 

Jack paused, glancing between her and the half-saiyan.

“And then what happened?”Gohan prompted, peering at Jack.

Videl furrowed her eyebrows. “When?”

“At the Hearthwheel,” Gohan said, quietly.

“Oh.” Videl blinked. “Well, after we could both walk, we returned to Pesto and rebuilt one of the nearby lookouts. It was a few miles away but we rigged up a radio out there. He went there—it was like that for a while, then there was the snowstorm—”

“Where I returned the favor.” He smiled and then explained, “She saved my life and I saved hers after Pesto caught fire via a downed power line from the solar absorber units.”

Gohan’s face was neutral. “So, you never lived in Pesto?”

Jack’s eyes sharpened and he fought back a smile. “No—we’re friends but we liked our space, our privacy.” 

“We were too much alike,” Videl stage-whispered to Gohan. 

Fire and fire, he supposed. Videl had clearly rehearsed how she would tell this story in her head. _(Didn't want him to get a certain perception?)_ He could feel how it had become a weight of lead on her. 

Gohan stood. “Well, it was good to meet you, Jack. You sound like a good friend to have around in a pinch.”

Jack stood as well. “Thank you and yours for helping her like you have. And me too. Shit. And now Launch, and Mark is your dad. I tell you what, guys—if tomorrow is even half as crazy as today—I’m calling off the rest of the week.”

“Bulma says you’re welcome to stay here, if you want.”

“Just until I get rested up—then I’ll find a place. I don’t want to wear out my welcome. And reckon you have training or whatever, seeing as now you can fly and shit. Damn, that woulda been useful.”

“I know, right,” Videl agreed. 

Jack shook Gohan’s hand. He one-arm hugged Videl. “It’s good to see you again. I was sure you were dead, sis.” He clapped her on the back and disappeared inside.

Gohan brushed his large palms over his jacket. “Videl, I, uh—“

“You want to train, right?” Videl said, allowing a little smile on her face. It made her look saucy. “Oh, Gohan. Trunks was right, you know? I mean, yeah, you’re brave and all that shit—but sometimes you’re a huge dope. I see where he got it from, now.”

Gohan bore this good-naturedly, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean.”

“But yeah, Gohan. Let’s train. Away from here. I wouldn’t wanna hurt you in front of the others.”

Gohan’s eyebrows shot up at the challenge in her tone. “Really, that’s what you’re going with, huh? Feeling cocky today?”

Videl shut her mouth and grinned at him. She lifted up into the air. “Come on, show me where you take out that aggression, Gohan.”

His eyes sharpened a little, watching her gaze haunt over him and then she turned away and flew towards the wasteland. He followed. Something felt different in her but something…fragile too. Something hard but brittle. Her armor that she kept up in her mind was warped. He could understand that, her father had suddenly shown up. And then her friend, the handsome ginger, Jack—who saved her life once, after she saved his. After she butchered an entire raiding camp. 

Gohan knew how many that was. He’d helped people fight them inbetween bouts with the cyborgs. He knew how many that was. For a regular human that was a pretty serious undertaking. She couldn’t fly then. She had weapons and her wits and she stormed a facility stuffed with raiders and butchered them all. Because they had attacked the town she was living in. Pesto. 

That probably meant that she had gone into a beserker sort of bloodrage kind of thing. And that probably bothered her. He could understand that part, definitely. How long had he warred with himself on how to treat the knowledge of his Saiyan blood and how it would affect his unique biology. Bulma had taken various blood samples from him, Trunks and Vegeta and was running all kinds of tests on it with Baba. But his entire life had been a struggle not to kill and not to _be_ killed.

Videl had gone on all that time as a smuggler, alone. Gohan watched her hair flutter in the wind, the hard line of her shoulders, her jaw—the muscle in her arms, her back, her thighs—

He looked away. The point was, she’d been all alone too. Desperate times made people take desperate actions. And when you feel like you have no control….

Videl landed far away from the city, alone in the wasteland on a mesa as late afternoon settled into evening. Gohan landed after her, watching her take out a capsule and pop it. She would use the kit to turn on a heat lamp while Gohan set up a three sided, open air tent. She stepped into it and pulled off her gloves and her jacket. Her flannel button-up shirt peeled away, revealing beige skin that was lanced with many scars. Bullet wounds, knife wounds, all over her skin. Like him, like Trunks and Mai and Jaida, like…all of them.

Videl took off her boots. She leaned against the small table (with attached cot) and turned to look at him, hesitating by the lamp. “You coming?”

Gohan wet his lips a little and stepped into the cool tent. It was usually not so…weird. They kept their gear and any loose items in the tent and then would go out to fight until exhaustion took them. Usually her first but she was getting better and better all the time. The wasteland should have felt cold. March would be upon them soon but the nights were still frosty but Gohan barely felt it, something was kindling in him, choking him. 

He tried to focus as Videl gloved her hands in gravity. He had to learn to dodge _her_ now. If she got one piece of it attached to him—she could use it to instantly pull them—

Fuck, just like now—she slammed into his back, gathered momentum and bashed him through the air. 

She liked fighting. She enjoyed the thrill, the challenge he presented. She loved it. He could feel it, how she _thrilled_ to his strength and power. He became a super saiyan and she beamed and loosed several of the orbs around her. Her strikes were lightning fast and brutal. 

An hour of sweating, grabbing, tussling and Videl hit the ground under him and she fought him, rolling her body up against him to try to buck him off but instead suddenly feeling his hands and his body and his scent and his eyes were obsidian dark and staring into her. She struggled again, keeping eye contact with him, fighting with real strength but keeping her eyes with him. Still, he held her to him, arms pinned behind her back, a hand on her hip that was merely a warning. 

“I could throw you off, make gravity implode in your eyes,” Videl told him, breathing deep. Her nipples were hard against her t-shirt. They pressed against his chest. 

“I know,” he told her quietly, watching her pupils dilate.

She rolled her hips against him again. He didn’t stop her, though his hand stayed on her thigh. “Videl,” he managed, voice quiet. He heard her murmur next to his ear, breath in against it. And then somehow their mouths met and she rolled up against him and his hand tightened on her thigh. He let her set her pace, letting his palm slide against her thigh, her hip, up to her waist. He pulled her in sharply against him, grinding up into her. Her hand fought his t-shirt, grabbing into the fabric, sliding down to the hem. She peeled it off of him, tossing it away and let her hands explore his skin. It sent a jolt of lightning up his spine, cock stiffening. 

He yanked the tank top off of her, pulling away her undergarments and his palms found her breasts. She shuddered, suddenly making a soft, high-pitched sound and her body was just as supple and sweet against him as he’d thought. He was still a little ashamed to have imagined it but with her making thin, broken sounds that he somehow hadn’t expected—he only pulled her in, burying his nose against her throat and breathing against her neck. That made her roll against him again, charged and electric with heat. His palm slid between her thighs and she opened his trousers, throwing the cloth belt away and sliding her hands down to touch his cock.

Her fingers were cold, it shocked a groan from him as she stroked him. He shuddered, fingers tensing into her hips. She nibbled on his ear, breathing in against it, kissed him. All the while her hands explored him and somehow they were naked and she felt so goddamn amazing. She was so strong and spirited and tough. But kind too. Kind. 

And aggressively stubborn as she urged him back and braced herself on his shoulders, lowering carefully onto him. She shuddered, screwing her eyes shut and bowing her head to breathe. “Holy shit,” she swore softly. 

“Are you all right?” Gohan managed.

“I—you’re…thick.” 

“You’re….” Gohan’s mind stuttered out and he took control, carefully pumping in a little at a time. Spreading her folds, nudging against her clit, worrying that button of nerves that made her fingernails dig into his shoulders. Felt her come inside and out, a heady, addictive feeling—to feel someone else’s pleasure. Like a wave that drew him together, urged him on. Gohan had her coming twice after he switched positions, pulling her back to his chest so he could gently keep pumping inside of her and leave his hands free to stroke her. Her grip on his hands faltered, twisting her own nipples _hard_ and then grabbing into her hair as he sunk into her completely. 

They both trembled. 

God, she felt _good_. Everything about her felt good. She was warm and _tight_. His hips jerked, sending a cascade of sensations through them both. One of his hands went to her hair, curling into the fine black strands and holding her head to the side to bite at her neck. His cock _pulsed_ , throbbing inside of her. She made a surprised sound and then groaned, back creating a bow of her sinewy form. He ran his rough palms up Videl’s sides, urging her into that heady feeling, giving in to the sensation of him inside of her. The hot clutch of her, tight and trembling around him. He pinned her down on her front, the heat between them driving away the prickling cold of night. It built inside of him like a storm, electric and hot and focused and when he finally came, he grabbed Videl, holding her to him. He buried his nose against her throat like she were a lifeline.

 

 

 

Trunks stared at Mister Satan. “You’re…..you’re Videl’s father?”

“Yes, I am, boy!”

Trunks got an uneasy feeling in his gut, remembering seeing this guy get hammered by Cell. He looked over the huge man and his frizzy hair. _How the fuck even…._

“You recognize me, don’t you? From before! I was a big deal before those robot brats came in and tricked me!”

Trunks hesitated. “I…well. Yes.” In a way, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \------
> 
> So its been awhile. Because things are going bad for me financially and I'm about to lose my apartment. 
> 
> So I'm just...sometimes when you have this kind of inescapable student loan debt, it's easy to fall into a "nothing matters anymore" state of mind.


End file.
